Not on my watch

2. The guilt

I'm sorry for everything
Oh, everything I've done
From the second that I was born

It seems I had a loaded gun

(Shots, Imagine Dragons)

John arrived and sat Sam on the only stool they had in the bathroom, ordering Dean to assist him in taking off Sam's soaking wet clothes. Realizing that Sam's eyes were shut and his limbs heavy, John slapped his youngest son in the face several times, even though without much conviction.

- Sam. Sam! Wake up! Sam! Pull yourself together, damn it!

A harder smack made the sixteen-year-old flinch before he nodded and got help for taking off his t-shirt, which was followed by socks, jeans and boxers. Dean swallowed while assisting his brother in entering the shower, but he was careful enough to avoid the look on his father's face. Even when the man spoke to him, once Sam was under the jet of hot water and the two of them knelt beside the shower.

- Who rescued him?

- The firefighters.

- Do they know his full name?

- No, sir.

- Are you absolutely sure?

- Yes, sir.

Dean heard John sigh in relief just when Sam's chills began toning down, and bit his lower lip. His father was glad, so to speak, for their cover not to have been blown. Or rather that Sam had drawn the attention without consequences for the man's job. It was the same reason why he would not have taken his son to the hospital, as long as he hadn't been forced to.

As soon as he realized that the colour on Sam's cheeks was now more similar to human complexion's than bluish, John got back on his feet and stared at his oldest son from above.

- Make sure he warms up for good, then help him get to bed. I'll go making something warm for him.

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the expression on his brother's face. It now seemed less suffering and almost only exhausted. But that was not enough for his father.

- Dean - the man called him, requiring his son's eyes to meet his. - Once you're done with him, I'll be waiting for you in the living room. I want you to report.

Dean swallowed again. He had hoped his father would have had mercy on his fatigue too.

- Tonight? - he dared to ask, but when John glared at him he bowed his head obediently. - Yes, sir.

The man was about to march out of the bathroom when an unexpected hummer from Sam made him wait. Fast, Dean bent over his brother, who was crouched on the bottom of the shower, uneasy.

- Did you say something, Sammy?

Sam took a deep breath, however difficult was doing it between gasps, but then he opened his eyes and looked for John Winchester's scowl.

- It's my fault. The... the fault is mine - he stuttered in a broken whisper. - Don't get an- don't get angry with Dean.

Dean managed to catch a glimpse of his father's reaction to Sam's words, but the man almost didn't show any. John Winchester got back on his way without a sound, leaving his sons wondering what was crossing his mind.

He is mad like a beast, Dean forced himself to remember. It's useless to hope for him not to be.

After an amount of time that expanded to his senses, Dean gave the thermometer to his brother so he could take his own temperature.

- 97,7 - Dean then read on the display, feeling his heart deflate with all his concern in a single spasm. - Perfect. Oh God, I can hardly believe it.

Sam, jaded as he was, shrugged at the sight of his joy and accepted his brother's help to get out of the cubicle. He managed to get dry and wear his pyjamas by himself, but preferred to rely on his brother's arm on the way to the room they shared. As soon as he pressed the light switch, Dean noticed the extra blankets that had been left on Sam's bed - the one on the end, tacked to the wall, close to the window -, the heating pad lying next to his pillow and the steaming cup on his bedside table, next to the abat jour lamp and the legal thriller Sam had been reading since the end of April.

- Dad took care of everything - Dean told his brother, trying to comfort him after the experience of hypothermia Sam had escaped from by miracle. - You're going to be fine, you'll see.

Sam proved to be extraordinarily docile while slipping under the covers and sipping at least some of the warm broth when his brother insisted. Dean thought he felt guilty for the havoc he had created at that time of night and he got confirmation a few minutes later.

- Dean, I'm so sorry.

- I know - the other replied instinctively.

- It was so foolish of me, I... I shouldn't have taken that bet, jumping into the water was dumb...

- Yes, it was - Dean confirmed with a tired smile, both to calm him down and to stop that stream of words. - But now I want you to stick to getting your strength back only. We'll talk about this story when I am sure you are all right.

Sam was about to object, but Dean's firmness made him nod unwillingly. Anyway, the ceasefire only lasted as long as the blink of an eye, because Dean immediately found himself to be the victim of the youngest's eyes, now wet of held tears.

- Dean, I swear, I swear to you, I would never have sneaked out had I known dad would have been back this very evening.

- Oh, and is this your way of telling me you respect my authority? - Dean replied, raising an eyebrow but without emphasizing the sarcastic edge.

Now that Sam looked alive again, the relief encouraged the oldest to joke about what had happened, but his brother was serious as hell.

- No, I meant... I don't want him to blame you, but he... Dean, you tell him that this was all my fault, that I asked for it and that it has nothing to do with you.

- Sam.

- Please.

- All right - Dean lied, grumbling. - Only if that means you are now going to chill out and sleep. Do we have a deal?

Sam studied his brother's eyes for a while, then he nodded reluctantly. He didn't exactly have a choice.

- Finally! - Dean exclaimed, opening his arms with an exasperated look before reaching out to ruffle his little brother's hair. - Get some rest. You'll have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, dad or no dad. You scared the hell out of me, you dumbass.

The twenty-year-old was already on the doorstep and was about to turn off the light in the room when Sam's voice made him wait.

- Yes?

- Thanks for picking me up. For sparing me the police station and... for fishing me out of ice.

Dean parted his lips slightly, unsure in front of that grateful puppy look Sam had been carrying with him since his childhood. He wanted to say "Don't thank me yet. I still have no idea how I'm going to save your ass from dad, this time". But he eventually forced himself to put a smile on his lips.

- No need to thank me, bitch.

- Jerk - the sixteen-year-old mumbled clearly.

- Goodnight, Sammy.

He finally turned off the light, closed the door a little. He then changed his mind and closed it cautiously before breathing in all the air his lungs were able to bear and heading towards the stairs. His father was waiting for him downstairs and to Dean it appeared as though the air around him was already sizzling.