Triage (9/12, PG13, Dean, Sam, John, Jim)
Title: Triage
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor its characters.
Rating: PG13 so far. Might be R later, but I doubt it.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Pastor Jim, OCs.
Wordcount: 2500.
Warning: Grammar (unbetaed!). I'm really really sorry about the tenses, guys...
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sometimes you think you made the right call, only to realize you've made a really big mistake...
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Chapter Nine
It wasn’t easy, but Sam eventually tired himself out talking about books and asking question after question. Jim Murphy thought he deserved a damn medal for being able to deflect the conversation every time the subject of Dean's injury came up. It was a good thing he was used to dealing with his parish; otherwise he never could have kept up with the youngest Winchester.
Jim's stomach growled and his shoulders ached from sitting in an uncomfortable chair for so long. He rubbed his eyes and took a sip from the coffee in his hand, grimacing at the taste.
He stood in the doorway, watching John and Dean as he finished his coffee. When the coffee got cold, Jim threw it away and went to put some scrubs on so he could enter Dean's room.
John was catnapping when he came in, but his head popped up when Jim came closer. He stretched, rubbing his eyes, and smothered a yawn.
"Any change?" Murphy asked.
"His fever's gone up," John said and got out of his chair. "How's Sam?"
"Asleep, finally," Jim said.
"I was going to go see him," John muttered, "What time's it?"
Jim looked at him watch. "A quarter past ten."
"Already?" John asked.
"Have you had anything to eat today?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, I got some chips out of the vending machine," John answered and scratched his cheek.
"I mean real food," the pastor said. John shrugged. "How about I treat you to dinner?" Jim suggested.
"The cafeteria is closed," John said tiredly. He brushed Dean's hair away from his face.
"I meant going out to eat," Jim clarified.
"No," was John's quick reply.
"Come on, John. You need to eat. And sleep. And shower."
"I'm not leaving him," John said.
"It's just for a couple of hours," the pastor tried.
"I can't," John said, and Jim sighed and nodded.
"A pizza or a burger?" Jim asked. John turned to look at him. "I gotta eat, John, and hospital food just isn’t gonna cut it. What should I bring you back?"
"A double cheeseburger," John said after a moment's hesitation. "Thanks Jim," he added, and Murphy nodded at him. "He's going to have another MRI at four," John added when the pastor was nearly out the door.
Jim frowned. "Four in the morning?" he asked.
John nodded. "Yeah, they say it's usually very busy in MRI, so when it's not urgent they schedule it for the middle of the night," he said.
"That about the concussion?" Jim asked, and John nodded.
"Hey, Jim?"
Murphy looked questioningly at John.
"Could you bring back some pie?" John asked, and then looked back at Dean. "I figure, if anything's gonna wake him up, it's a pie within a ten foot radius," John muttered and Jim smiled.
"I'll ask if they have blueberry," he promised, and then left.
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"John?"
"Jim." John stretched and grimaced at the pain in his back.
"How did the MRI go?" Jim asked.
"The bleeding stopped, but the swelling's still more than they'd like," John replied in a tired voice. "They say it's a good thing he's in a coma, that it helps reduce the stress," he said. "Can you believe it? A good thing he's in a coma?"
"At least you got to eat your pie," the pastor offered with a shadow of a smile.
"Not funny, Jim."
"I know, sorry." Murphy apologized.
"I should go spend some time with Sam," John said.
"He's still asleep. I've already checked," Jim noted.
"Oh," John blinked. "Guess it's back to sitting then. I think the chair is starting to get a little less uncomfortable…"
"Go back to your apartment, John," the pastor said.
"What?"
"I'm here, both boys are out, and you stink," Jim said simply. "Seriously, John, I'm starting to think these nurses put on a face mask because of you."
"You're in a good mood this early in the morning," John said gruffly.
"I had some good coffee," Murphy retorted. "I'm serious, John. You need a break," he said. "You have your phone. A shower, a change of clothes and a couple hours of sleep in a real bed aren’t going to kill anyone."
"I can't, Jim."
"Yes, you can," the pastor insisted. "Sam's gonna have toast for breakfast, I asked," he said, "Why don’t you bring him something else? And some of his books, I'm sure he'd appreciate it."
John let out a sigh. "What if…"
"No what ifs, John," Jim cut him off. "You asked me here, and I'm here. Now I'm telling you, go home. I'm handling things here, go."
John hesitated a moment longer.
"Lunch is on you, by the way," Murphy went on. "I'll have some Italian if you could find it. Maybe pasta and meatballs?"
"Jeeze," John rolled his eyes, "You're a high maintenance date, you know that?" he said with a slight smile.
Jim crossed his arms over his chest.
"Fine. Okay. You win. I'll go take a shower," John conceded. "But if anything happens…"
"You'll be the first to know," the pastor promised.
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John went by Sam's room on his way out of the hospital. He spent twenty minutes watching his boy sleep. It felt like all he did - sit in uncomfortable chairs and watch his boys sleep.
He was tempted to wake Sam up, just to assure himself that Sam could wake up, that he wasn’t in a coma like his brother. But John didn’t. Sam needed his rest, and John had been selfish enough.
He kissed the top of Sam's head and went out to the parking lot instead.
The nurse, Valerie, had given him a small bag with Dean's things. Or what was left of them. John never could figure out why they kept the clothes after cutting them off, it wasn’t like Dean could ever wear them again. But the car keys were there, and that was what John had needed.
He thanked his lucky stars that the car hadn’t been impounded or towed away. Valerie told him one of the orderlies had parked it in the parking lot, so all he had to do was find it.
It wasn’t too hard finding a black 1967 Chevy Impala in a sea of modern cars. Especially with the sun glinting off its roof after days of rain washed all the mud off. Seeing the car actually brought a smile to John's face.
Maybe Jim was right. Maybe John really did need to get out, breathe in some fresh air, get some fresh clothes - ones that didn’t stick to his body and smell like something had died in them. Maybe this break would actually do them all some good.
Maybe by the time he got back, both his sons would be awake.
John took a deep breath of fresh air and took the car keys out of his pocket. He leaned on the car and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face for a second or two, at least until the wind picked up and he started shivering.
Pulling his jacket closer around him, John opened the car door.
And then wished he hadn’t.
He forgot about the blood. Well, not so much forgot as he was in denial about it. But there was no denying it now.
There was blood all over the back seat. Sam's blood. It was caked and cracked, but the memory of it was all too fresh in the father's mind.
And there was blood all over the front seat and all around the foot wells. Dean's blood, and so much of it.
John's stomach roiled. His hands shook, and not because of the cold.
There was even blood on the roof of the car, and John didn’t even want to imagine how it'd gotten there.
He gagged and closed the car door shut, but it didn’t help. A couple of seconds later, he puked what little was in his stomach, and then kept dry heaving for what felt like an eternity.
He couldn’t drive the Impala. Not with all that blood. It was caked and crusted and was going to be a bitch to get out of the leather - it would be worse the longer he waited - but John just couldn’t.
He ran back to the hospital, ran back to Sam's room and watched his son sleep with one hand under his cheek and the other lost under the covers. John just stood there and watched his son breathe in and out. He blinked tears out of his eyes, resisting the burning desire to pick Sam up in his arms and just hold him there forever, and then ran up the stairs the remaining two floors, not willing to wait for the elevator to take him to the ICU.
Jim tried to kick him out again, but there was nothing on this Earth that could stop John from making sure his son was alive. Not now. He just had to see it for himself, see his son's chest raising and falling, even if a machine was doing it for him.
"John, what happened?" Jim asked worriedly, "Is it Sam? Is something wrong?"
"I can't go, Jim. I just can't," John choked.
"Yes, you can," the pastor insisted.
"There was so much blood…" John murmured, and Jim frowned.
"What?"
"The car," John explained, "There's just… All over. Everywhere…" John shook his head, and Jim sighed.
"Take a cab," he said.
John frowned. "What?"
"Take a cab," Jim repeated. "Go home, John. The boys are fine. I'm here. Go home."
"No."
"John," Jim gently but forcefully pushed John away from Dean's bed. "You need to get a grip," Murphy said. "Go home. Nothing is going to happen in a couple of hours…"
"The world can end in a couple of hours!" John snapped.
"Yes, yes it could," Jim agreed, "But it won't," he added.
"I can't leave them," John insisted. "I won't."
"Yes, you will," Murphy said in turn. "You can go by yourself, with me here looking after the boys, or I could haul your ass there, and then no one would be here to watch over them," he said. "Your choice, John, but that's the only two you've got," he added just as the other man opened his mouth to protest.
John glared at him. "They're my sons!"
"Yes, they are," the pastor agreed. "Think about that the next time you take them hunting with you," he said coolly.
John froze. He just… froze. He couldn’t think of anything to say, anything to do but punch Jim in the face.
"Go home, John," Murphy repeated. "I've got things under control here," he said, practically pushing John out the door.
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The next few hours passed by in a daze. Riding the cab back to the apartment. Changing the battery on his cell phone and charging the old one. Peeling the clothes off his body and putting them in the trash. Standing under a spray of lukewarm water for what felt like forever and never being able to wash the blood off from under his fingernails.
It was all too surreal. It was all too much.
He broke down and cried in the shower until he simply couldn’t cry any more.
John turned the now freezing cold water off and got out of the shower. He toweled himself dry and put on some clean clothes.
There wasn’t much to eat in their tiny apartment, but trust Dean to always keep a jar of PB and a jar of jelly around for Sam.
It wasn’t until the water boiled the John remembered the coffee. He laughed like a maniac, crushing down onto the floor with the empty cup in his hand, and just laughed until he was out of breath.
He left the PB&J sandwich on the counter and walked into the boys' bedroom.
Dean's bed was its usual mess, with the sheets strewn every which way. Sam's bed didn’t quite have the hospital corners, but it was obvious which part of the room belonged to which boy.
John sat on Dean's bed and just looked around the room.
He had tried getting Dean to pick up after himself for years, but living in motel rooms didn’t really help matters much. It was a little funny how much of a slob Dean was, considering how meticulous he was with the things he actually cared about.
The half empty bowl of cereal by the bed was really stinking up the room though. John got up and opened the window on his way to the kitchen. He rinsed out the bowl and put it in the sink, devouring the sandwich on his way back to the boys' room.
He packed some clothes for each boy, and tossed five or six of Sam's books in there for good measure. It felt wrong not to pack anything for Dean, but John knew it was too early for that.
He checked his cell phone just in case. There were no new messages. He even checked to make sure the phone worked.
Their answering machine had a few messages though, a few of them from the boys' schools. Dean's principal sounded more than a little irritated when he informed John that Dean had been cutting school yet again and made it clear it would no longer be tolerated. Sam's teacher sounded rather concerned about his absence.
John called both schools to inform them the boys will not be returning for some time. Dean's teacher didn’t seem to care one way or another, but Sam's teacher offered to send him his schoolwork. John was about to decline, but changed his mind. Sam loved school, and schoolwork would distract him. He thanked the teacher and asked her if she could send it to the hospital, apologizing for not coming to pick it up himself.
He considered calling Dean's school for Dean's assignments, but knew he was only fooling himself thinking Dean would ever bother with it. For all intent and purpose, Dean had already dropped out of school months ago. John was just too stubborn to accept that, but he couldn’t keep driving Dean there and wasting all day making sure he stayed there.
Walking back to the kitchen, John found his stash of Johnny Walker and took a glass. He returned to the living room and slumped down on the sofa with a sigh and poured himself two fingers, emptying his glass in one shot.
He poured himself another shot, but didn’t drink it. Instead, he lay back and closed his eyes, just for a moment.
He woke up with a start three hours later to a sound of a car horn. Cursing, John jumped off the sofa, grabbed the bag he'd packed, grabbed his keys, and was out the door as fast as he could.
The diner was open, and he ordered takeaway for himself and Jim, added another milkshake for Sam, and practically ran out to the street to stop a cab back to the hospital.
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