(no subject)

[thruterryseyes]

 
Chapters: 5,6,7

Title: Chipping Away 
Author: Thru Terry's Eyes
Rating: PG13/Language
Warnings: None/Pre-series
Pairings: None
Genre: Family, angst

Summary:  It's been a long day and Sam and Dad are fighting again, the affect it has on Dean as things spiral out of control.
Disclaimer: Only get pleasure no money.

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Chapter 5: Blink of an eye

Sam could hear Dean coughing from the kitchen, but didn't hear the front door open. He jerked around in surprise when it slammed shut. The glass he was holding fell to the floor and broke, water and shards splashing across his shoes. Shit, he thought, shaking the glass off of his foot. His face tightened when he saw his father's stern form, clothes and hair wet from the rain.
John stopped short when he saw his youngest. Sam straightened back up from reaching for the broken bits of glass and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

John's stare was challenging as he walked to the table putting a small sack down with a clink of bottles banging together. Neither spoke. The silence roared through the room.

Sam felt his earlier anger rise up again, but fought it back down. Right now there were more important things to worry with. Dean's coughing had lessened some, but Sam still wanted to get him that water and have their Dad look at him.

"Dad," he began. "We gotta talk -"

John interrupted him. "Didn't we already do this?" he said in a hard voice. "It didn't work so well before it seems to me."

If he had been drinking he hadn't had much. His manner was cold, his eyes still angry.  To Sam it seemed that lately, when those dark eyes turned to him they were always angry.

"Dad, it's about Dean - " Sam said, trying to get his father's attention. What had happened before, at least for the moment, didn't matter.

John frowned, looking around. Dean's car had been outside. "What about him?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Sam snapped. "He's sick! He's running a pretty good fever and I think something's really wrong with him….." He stopped as John turned toward the bedroom. The sudden clear sound of Dean gagging came down the hall.

John glanced back at Sam and then turned and walked quickly towards their bedroom.

The soft light from the table lamp made it hard to see. John stepped through the door and flipped on the overhead light, calling the room into glaring brightness. Dean lay curled on his side, chest heaving as he breathed raggedly and loudly through his mouth. His eyes were closed and his fists were pressed to his chest.

"Dean…" John said softly, moving quickly toward him. Dean did not acknowledge his father's presence. John's boot suddenly slipped on the floor by the bed and he barely stopped himself from falling. Looking down he saw he had slipped in one of several small red tinged puddles on the floor. His eyes darted to Dean's face. His lips were flecked with more red and where they weren't red, they were blue.

John knelt by the bed and cupped Dean's face in his calloused hands, shaking him. "Dean!" he barked. Dean's eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. "Dean, wake up!" John shouted, pulling Dean's limp body up and shaking him again. Dean's head rolled loosely, but his eyes finally opened, fever bright.

He weakly raised a hand to his father's face. "Dad?" he gasped. "My chest…..hurts…..can't breathe…." His eyelids slid down again.

John grabbed Dean's hand and looked at his fingernails, the beds were also tinged with blue. "Shit!" he snarled. He turned his head to the door. "Sam! Get some blankets and get back in here! NOW!"  He thundered. He pulled Dean's body up on the bed feeling the heat from Dean's fever roll into him as he cradled Dean against him.

What in God's name had happened?

"You can breathe, son" he said firmly into Dean's ear. Dean jerked against him, choking. "Shallow breaths, Dean, shallow." He said in the same firm voice. He shifted Dean on the bed so that he was sitting up, leaning forward and hit him sharply between the shoulder blades with the flat of his hand.

Dean cried out and started gagging again. John hit him again, then twice more and Dean started coughing up some of the congestion in his lungs.

Sam had leapt to his feet from picking up the glass at the sound of his father's voice and raced back to the bedroom where Dean lay. He stopped when he saw Dean's face and the bloody splatters on the bed clothes. "Dean!"

Dean's fingers were digging into John's shoulder as he coughed helplessly, but his breath was coming slightly easier. Tear streaks stained his face.

"Come on, Sam! We've got to get him to the hospital! He isn't getting enough oxygen!" John's sharp orders pushed Sam to action.

"Yes, sir!" he grabbed the blankets Dean had kicked onto the floor a short time earlier. He couldn't understand how Dean could have gotten so bad so fast and was stabbed by the realization that Dean probably had been that bad before, but Sam hadn't seen it because of his own need to include Dean in his secret. He'd fucking done it again. He raced into his father's room and grabbed the blanket from his bed.

John slipped his arms under Dean's shoulders and knees and lifted him from the bed. Dean moaned softly and continued coughing. His head fell back and his arms hung loosely. Dean wasn't fat by any means, but he was solid muscle and not a child. John marveled at the strength that came when you had to have it. He turned to the door as Sam came back in with his armload of blankets, numbly waiting for orders.

"Move his head so he can breath easier, " John demanded, hearing the change in Dean's labored breath as his head hung limply. Sam shifted Dean's head to rest on John's shoulder and draped a blanket over him, making sure to cover his head and bare feet. "Get his keys. We're taking the Impala." John said as left the room with Dean.

Sam grabbed Dean's jacket off the floor and grubbed in the pockets until he found the keys. To save time he jerked Dean's jacket on and ran after his father out the front door to Dean's car.

The rain was still falling, but had changed to sharp drops rather than the soft mist from before and the air was colder. Sam ran to the car and unlocked it. His hands were shaking and he cursed the time it took to get the key in the lock.

"Get in the back," John said. Sam crawled in the backseat and reached out as John leaned in with Dean. Dean's clothes and skin were sweat slicked but he was starting to shake with chills. Sam slid back against the door pulling Deans body with him and settling Dean between his legs, hands gripped around his chest. He could feel how Dean was struggling to breathe, his head rolling against Sam's shoulder. John adjusted the two blankets over Dean's legs and Sam pulled them the rest of the way up. John glanced at Sam, who nodded. John jumped into the driver's seat, gunned the car into life and shot out of the yard in a spray of mud.

Dean was shaking uncontrollably and the heat radiating off of him was making Sam break out in a sweat too. His own heart racing, Sam pressed his chin into Dean's wet hair and convulsively squeezed the part of Dean's arm he could reach. Dean's breathing was loud in the car and the sound of it scared Sam.

"He didn't…didn't mean to…" Dean mumbled suddenly, reaching toward the front seat.

Sam caught his arm and pulled it back under the blanket. "Ssshhh…it's okay, Dean. Lie still. It's okay." Sam  unconsciously rocked his body in an effort to keep Dean calm.

"What the hell happened, Sam?" John demanded finally, looking back at Sam in the rearview mirror. "Dean was fine when he came home. He was okay when I left-"

Sam barked a short laugh. "He wasn't even in the house when you left. He'd been outside standing in the friggin' rain for an hour! How would you know how he was?" Sam's voice rose and fell, full of contempt, for whom he didn't know.. "Christ, Dad, I guess he's been sick all day. Neither one of us even spoke to him when he got home, so why would we notice something like that? We were to busy screaming at each other again." Sam bit his lip and stared out the window. Lights blurred past the window as they sped through the darkness. He wondered how fast his father was actually going. Town was only fifteen miles away, but the roads weren't the best, especially when rain slicked.

"Standing out in the rain? What the fuck are you talking about? It's freezing outside!" John's eyes in the mirror wanted an answer and Sam didn't have the nerve to deny him.

"Haven't you noticed that every time we get into it anymore, Dean disappears?" Sam snorted. He closed his eyes and laughed. "When you left, I tried to find him. He'd gone outside right after we started to fight. I told him to come in and he wouldn't…." Sam felt his eyes burn at the memory of his words to Dean.

"Why not?" John said in a softer voice. He slowed down when the car hit a pothole and water geysered the windshield. They'd be at the hospital in less than ten minutes.

"I said…I said something. God, I didn't mean it, but I so angry. Dean told me he'd rather stand outside in the rain and freeze than listen to you and me fighting again. That we never noticed when he was gone anyway." Sam's voice broke. "He said he was tired of being caught in the middle. That he was just…. tired of it. That we never listened to what we were really saying to each other so what was the point of fighting." Sam hit the back of the seat with his fist. "Shit!" he spat. Dean jerked, breath rattling in his throat. He looked up at Sam briefly but Sam knew Dean wasn't seeing him.

"He's sick because of us, Dad!" Sam said. "We pushed him to this! We're so damn busy trying to prove who's right and who's wrong we can't see what it's doing to Dean! He'd do anything for either of us and all we can do is try to force him to take sides! We're tearing him apart every time we do it! If we don't figure something out there's not gonna be anything left of him!" Sam clutched at Dean's arm and pressed his mouth into Dean's hair.

John watched the two young men in the mirror. Dear God, was Sam was right? He thought about the blazing arguments he and Sam had been having more and more often. Escalating in tone, subject and violence. John hated fighting with Sam, but, dammit, what was he supposed to do? Let Sam just go off like it didn't matter- like his family didn't matter? John's anger responded predictably but he forced it away. This wasn't the time and certainly not the place.

His eyes were haunted by the reality of Sam's words and the knowledge made him physically ill. They had both been trying to force Dean to choose, unconsciously perhaps, but doing it none the less. It was as though Dean's strength would add power to each of them. And Dean did make them stronger, but only when he was allowed to support and protect them both. Trying to make him pick one over the other--no wonder Dean had reached a breaking point. John felt a sick responsibility for this settle on his shoulders. He always assumed, since Dean rarely complained and never argued, that everything was okay with him. If he had a problem he griped about it, they sorted it out and that was that. It hurt and scared him that Dean would do such a thing, endanger himself even unintentionally, because of John and Sam's incessant battling.

Dean was obviously deathly ill. If anything happened to him it would be as if John himself had put a gun to Dean's head and pulled the trigger.

"Dad, I don't think he's breathing!" Sam's panicked voice shot through John's brain. Sam was shaking Dean roughly. "He's not breathing!" he yelled.

The lights of the hospital flashed up ahead and the Impala's tires screeched to a sudden halt in the turn into the emergency drive. John was out of the car before it had rocked back and into the emergency room, yelling to anyone for a doctor and a gurney.

"My son is dying!"

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Chapter 6: Never Ending

Sam had been frightened and bewildered by the sudden flurry of activity that had ripped Dean out of his arms and into the hands of strangers. Only John pulling Sam aside had allowed them to take Dean.

Dean had been swiftly removed from the car and placed on a gurney. An oxygen mask was put over his ashen face as ER staff had rushed him inside the hospital, leaving John and Sam to trail in their wake. After a few swiftly asked questions from the nurse were answered, any allergies, medications he was taking, etc., they were left alone.

John had tried to go into the exam room but had been stopped by a small woman with brown hair tied back into a bun. Her head barely came to John's chest.

"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to wait out here and let the doctor work. We'll let you know his condition as soon as there is anything to tell." John's eyes shot to the room they had taken Dean into.

"No!" Sam said, pushing forward. "We need to be with him-he hates hospitals!" His eyes were frantic. Dean did hate hospitals. The reasons were plainly shown on his young, scarred body, shown on all of their bodies, for that matter.

"Please, gentlemen," She continued in a softer voice. "I understand you want to be with him, but he's being well taken care of, I promise you." She gestured at the waiting room. "Sit down. We can get you both something to drink and there are some forms the office manager will need you to fill out."

John looked on the verge of arguing. Finally, he took Sam's arm and pulled him gently toward the waiting area. "Come on, Sam. All we can do is wait." Sam reluctantly accompanied him and they both sank into the uncomfortable chairs. Sam was watching his father's face. John's eyes were glued to the exam room door.

After a few minutes, Sam ventured, "He'll be okay." He tried to say it with confidence. But Dean had looked so bad. "This is Dean. He'll beat this." They had all been in the hospital numerous times for many injuries. It was their second most popular family activity. Then there were all the many times they had tended their own hurts, but he had never seen this look on John Winchester's face before. "There's nothing we can do for him right now." He stopped as a bulky piece of equipment was hurried past them and rolled into the room with Dean.

John swallowed and slowly shook his head. "I know Sam, but this time-" John dropped his face in his hands. "God, Sam, this is my fault. You were right. I never realized-" Then Sam suddenly recognized the look. Guilt. His dad felt guilty because Dean was sick. The knowledge shocked him.

Sam's eyes widened. "Dad, I never said this was your fault," he said. "At least, not all of it," he corrected. "I'm just as much to blame as you. We've both been making it harder on him than it had to be." Sam leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. His long brown hair hung over his eyes. "Hell, he never says anything, lets anyone in…" Sam cleared his throat. "How were we supposed to know?" He sniffed and swiped the heel of his hand across his eyes. You know Dean, his mind whispered, he would never tell, no matter how much he hurt.

John raised his head, taking a deep breath and rubbed at his temple. He patted Sam on the leg twice. "Dean's always kept his feelings to himself. Even when he was a little kid I never knew what he was thinking." He made a small sound that might have been soft laughter. "But he wasn't always such a smart mouth." Sam smiled at that. "He always did what I asked him to, though." Eyes back to the door.

Sam stared at the floor. Black and white swirls with tiny red flecks. His heart chilled. "Dad…I know I'm not making things easier for you…" he began.

John glanced at him and shook his head again. "Let's not start this now. Dean doesn't need us doing this." He eyes swept to the exam room

"Dad it's because of Dean I have to. We can't keep going on this way, what we're doing to each other, to him….." Sam's hands flopped between his knees.

"I understand what you're saying, Sam." John's voice was harder than he meant it to be. "But right now all I care about is making sure Dean will be all right. Everything else comes second to that. Anything you and I may have to say to each other we can say later." John's voice shook slightly and he met Sam's eyes. "Please."

Sam looked up in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard his dad say please. He bit his lip, but nodded, sighing. "Sure, Dad, we can talk later. You're right." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and joined his dad staring at the door.

A woman approached them with a clipboard full of papers. "Mr. Winchester?" Sam and John's heads both jerked up. She found their matching stares slightly unsettling. "I have some forms that we need filled out." She held out the clipboard and a pen. "We need it for admission."

John just kept gazing at her. Sam finally took the clipboard and pen. "I'll do it," he told his father. She gave Sam a tight smile, as though it tasted bad, and walked back to her cubicle.

Sam read the questions and started filling in the blanks. Her knew all the information, when to lie, when to tell the truth, what mattered and what didn't. When he was done he handed it to John to sign and carried it back to the woman behind the counter.

Time passed and it seemed like the staff had forgotten them. A few people came and went in the ER, a broken arm, a minor car wreck. Nothing special. Medical personnel moved in and out of Dean's room but no one stopped to talk to them. John and Sam drank countless cups of coffee and were so wired after a while they jumped at every sound. John had been getting up, pacing, sitting down and getting up to pace again with such regularity that Sam decided wearily, if his dad tried to go back into the exam room again he wasn't going to stop him this time.

They both jumped when the exam room door burst open and the gurney Dean was lying on was pushed out, surrounded by several nurses. Bags and bottles hung from racks on the bed, tubes leading from them to his arms. A ventilator covered the lower half of his face. One of the nurses pushed the breathing apparatus alongside the bed. John and Sam leapt to their feet and rushed over to Dean. His chest rose and fell in time to the machine. Sweat shone on his face but his color seemed a little better. The nurses paused only briefly then moved toward the elevators at the end of the hall. John turned to stop them. He just wanted to see his son. Sam watched them go by, face stricken. Dean looked awful. God, he wasn't even breathing on his own.

A hand fell on John's arm and the doctor, a young man with five o'clock shadow, smiled at him. His scrubs had blood splattered on them and John knew it was from Dean

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, I know you want to see your son but we finally got him stabilized and we need to get him to ICU as quickly as we can. I swear, you can see him shortly but we need to talk first." Sam and John looked at each other and some of the color left John's face. Reluctantly, he and Sam accompanied the young doctor, his tag said his name was Dennison, back to the waiting room. They sat back down, both more edgy than before and John showing it as his fingers dug into his knees.

"Will he be all right?" John said point blank.

Dr. Dennison blinked. "Your son has severe bacterial pneumonia in both lungs. His lungs are filled with fluid. We had to intubate him and put him on a ventilator because he couldn't breathe on his own. He was fighting us the whole time to the point that we had to sedate him." Dennison smiled. "He's a fighter, Mr. Winchester, I'll say that for him."

Sam's mouth quirked in a small smile and he glanced at his father. Dean was a fighter all right.

Even if he was fighting against what was best for him.

"Will he be all right?" John repeated.

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Winchester, your son is very ill. Pneumonia can strike very quickly. In someone as young as-," Dennison consulted his notes, "as Dean, it usually occurs because the patient was already in a weakened state. Dean doesn't have any immuno-deficiency problems does he? Aids -."

"No!" John barked in outrage. Sam and the doctor jerked back.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, we have to ask." Dennison swallowed. "Has he been ill recently? The flu?"

"He wasn't feeling well today." Sam put in glancing at John., "He said he thought he had the flu. But he had to be outside a lot today, in the rain…."

"Will he be all right!" John demanded, face darkening

Dennison nodded, becoming unnerved at the man's intensity. "He's running a very high fever and he's severely dehydrated. We're pumping him with fluids and antibiotics which should bring it under control. He'll be in ICU at least twenty four hours. By then we can better assess his condition and possibly move him to a regular room. Barring unforeseen complications, he should recover fully. There may some lung scarring but we have no way of judging that at this point. His breathing concerns me most and as long as he's on the ventilator he'll have to stay in ICU. If he continues to fight the ventilator he'll have to remain under sedation. We'll try to get it off of him as soon as possible but that'll just depend on him." Dennison referred to his notes one last time. "Do either of you have any questions?"

Sam shook his head. John rose from the chair. "I want to see him," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

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Chapter 7: Waiting

Sam and John hurriedly made their way to the second floor where the small ICU unit was located. They were forced to wait again so that the staff could finish getting Dean settled. Apparently, even half dead, he was still a handful. By that time, Sam wouldn't have crossed his father on a bet. John paced back and forth in front of the double doors that blocked ICU like a caged lion.

Sam glanced at his watch, stunned to see that it was after 4:00 am. Had they been here for six hours? He rubbed his eyes, watching John's dark presence disturbing the staff. They would almost run past him whenever they had to go in and out of the doors, trying like hell not to make eye contact. Sam had draped his lanky frame across one of the couches, a safe distance away from John's potential blast zone and slumped there waiting.

Finally, to Sam's great relief, an older, heavy set nurse opened the doors and gestured them to her. "You can only see him for a moment. He needs to rest and we're having difficulty keeping him sedated. He keeps trying to remove the ventilator." She shook her head and led them through the dimly lit room to a curtained bed.

John hesitated and then pushed the curtain aside and stepped in. Sam followed, hanging back slightly, a little afraid of what he would see. The rhythmic sound of the ventilator pushing air in and out of Dean's lungs seemed loud in the overall hush of the room. The ventilator mask was secured around his head so he couldn't rub it loose.

"I'm sorry, we had to restrain him but it's for his own good." The nurse said. That's when Sam saw Dean's arms were strapped down. There was an IV in both arms dripping only God knew what into him from 3 different bags. A heart monitor beeped softly. The nurse smiled at Sam's strained look and patted him on the arm. "We'll take good care of him, sweetie." She winked at him. "Can't let anything happen to a cutie like that. What would the women of the world say?" Sam grinned despite himself. His eyes stung suddenly. Dean would have loved hearing that. The nurse turned and moved back through the curtains.

Sam stepped quietly to Dean's side and reached out but was afraid to touch him. He was not sure if it would hurt Dean. He finally laid his hand over Dean's and leaned closer. Dean moaned softly, restlessly rolling his head back and forth on the pillow. "Hey, Dean," Sam said in a hushed tone. "Can you hear me?" Dean's eyes fluttered but when they opened they were glassy and unfocused, they closed again almost immediately.

Sam smiled up at his dad. "His color looks better, don't you think?" He straightened up as John came closer.

John reached out to brush Dean's short, raggedly cut hair. He was still too hot to the touch and John took the edge of the sheet and gently dried the sweat from Dean's face. "Yeah," John replied. "It does."

Pulling up the chair by the bed, John sat down wearily. He squeezed Dean's forearm, massaging his own eyes with the other hand. He watched Dean's face for a few long moments, reaching out again to run a rough finger down Dean's flushed cheek. Dean looked small and young when he was lying in a hospital bed. He always did. It was as if the fire that made Dean, Dean, had extinguished itself and left only the bewildered boy behind. John cursed at himself mentally. He forgot sometimes, in his zeal for vengeance that Sam and Dean were his sons, not his soldiers

He drew a deep breath, swallowing. "I'm sorry, Dean," he began softly. "I know you've been hurt worse, but this is the first time you've been hurt because of me." John snorted softly . "So maybe this is the worst."

Sam had backed up to the curtained doorway. He had his hands in the pockets of Dean's leather jacket. Having it around him was comforting. It smelled like Dean. Cinnamon, coffee and a muskier scent Sam couldn't identify but was still Dean. He could always smell it, even if he couldn't see Dean, even as children. It made Sam feel safe just knowing by that scent that Dean was around, that Dean was there for him. He hugged the jacket closer, hearing a crackle in the inside pocket. Frowning, he reached inside the jacket and drew out a long white envelope smeared with what looked like dried blood. Puzzled, he dragged his fingers over the blotches and turned the envelope over.

SHIT! He almost said it out loud. His breath caught in his chest. In the quiet of the room it seemed the sound of his heart beating was louder that Dean's life support system.

"What's that?" John's voice made him jump guiltily. John's eyes displayed only the mildest curiosity. John's entire body radiated exhaustion, squelching any real interest. He eyed Sam for a second and then turned back to Dean.

"Just something I found in Dean's pocket," Sam replied quickly, stuffing it back into the pocket. How the hell had it gotten into Dean's jacket?

Dean moaned suddenly and started thrashing on the bed, jerking his head back and forth and arching his back. The heart monitor started beeping and an alarm went off behind Sam. Mouth gaping, he was roughly pushed away by strong arms as two nurses entered the room. John was also forced from Dean's side.

"What's wrong?" John asked sharply, watching Dean struggle. "What's the matter with him?"

"He's fighting the sedation again. Please, you need to leave now. You can see him again in a few hours. He'll be fine. We just need to get him calm." The nurse hustled them out the door and closed the curtain, blocking their view.

Sam awoke to the sensation of his hair being stroked. He wasn't sure where he was and he jerked up, blinking. Bright waiting room lights hurt his eyes and caused him momentary confusion.

"Easy, son…" his dad said. Sam rubbed his eyes. He had been sleeping with his head on Dean's bunched up jacket in his father's lap. "Are you ok?" John was still tired but there was a little relief in his eyes.

"I… yeah, when did I fall asleep?" Sam shook his head and tried to calm his heart beat. He felt gritty and stiff. Stretching produced an array of crackling sounds.

John arched his back. "A couple of hours ago. You just sort of slumped over. Like you used to do when you were little." He glanced up at Sam, mouth quirking. "So, I just sat here, like I used to do." It had been a long night. Dawn was just beginning to burn in the horizon.

Sam's mouth twisted. "How's Dean? Any news?"

"Yeah, you were asleep when they came by." John took a deep breath. "They said he's resting comfortably now. He's still on the ventilator, but his color was better and he's responding to the antibiotics. They've got him pretty heavily sedated. If he keeps improving I think they'll put him in a regular room later today or tomorrow and then maybe he can go home the next day." John stifled a yawn and ruffed his hair. "He's going to be out of commission for a while, bed rest, the whole nine yards."

Sam nodded, relieved, feeling a weight lift. He pressed his fingertips into the back of his neck. "No problem, we can handle that. When will they let us see him again?" His stomach growled suddenly, loud in the quiet room. Red flared in his flat cheeks.

John laughed and glanced at his watch. It was a nice sound and Sam didn't get to hear it often. "They won't let us in for another hour. Maybe you should go get something to eat. You go grab breakfast and I'll stay here. Bring me back a sandwich and some coffee." He reached for his wallet but Sam shook his head.

"I got it. I'll be back in a minute. Call my cell if anything changes." Sam walked to the elevator and punched the button for the first floor.

John stretched again, monumentally, his own joints popping. He'd caught a few minutes sleep while Sam was dozing but nothing like what he needed. He moved Dean's jacket off his lap. The worn leather had made a decent pillow. Sam's head in his lap had been surprisingly soothing to John and he had taken to stroking that damned long hair without thought.

He never touched Sam any more, he reflected. Dean. either, for that matter. A clap on the shoulder after a good hunt, or shove to get them out of danger's way but nothing more. Dean wouldn't have welcomed it. In fact, he would have probably thought he was dying if John had bestowed a gentle touch on him while he was conscious. Sam had always needed more intimacy, more closeness. John found it difficult to give, falling back on his military training to give comfort and support. Tough love was easier. He couldn't help being glad and relieved that Dean seemed willing, no wanted, to give that intimacy to Sam, the intimacy that John, himself, couldn't give.

His sons had grown older and the love between them had changed with age, but John still heard it and saw it. In Dean's anger at Sam when he put himself in danger. In Dean's fear for him, his willingness to jump in harm's way to protect him. Even in Dean smacking Sam in the back of the head and calling him a stupid bitch. Sam was no different, but he wore his emotions where they could be seen, not hidden behind a facade of indifference like Dean.

John sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. He understood how that façade was what had landed Dean in the ICU, under restraints, with a breathing tube down his throat. John accepted Dean's attitude at face value and Dean wanted so badly not to hurt Sam or John that he had ended up hurting himself. Son of a bitch, he thought, kneading his fingers into the soft leather of Dean's jacket. He heard paper crackle under his fingers and out of boredom reached in to see what was in the pocket.

TBC