Mommy Winchester

Part 15

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but there’s nothing more we can do for your wife.”
“What the hell do you mean? You’re a fucking doctor!”
“We’ve done all we can for someone in her condition; the car accident caused a significant amount of damage. Her wrist is broken, two ribs are fractured — she has bleeding on the brain. In situations such as these, it is sometimes best to think about —.”
“I’m not thinking about any fucking options! This is supposed to be the best fucking hospital in the state, that’s why she’s here! Don’t you fucking tell me there’s nothing else you can do for her!”
“Im so sorry, sir, I —.”
“Don’t fucking tell me you’re sorry,  just fix her!”
Cail sits quietly by your bed, his hand curled in yours. He’d been sitting there for the last hour, listening to his father tear into two nurses and now the doctor, all of them giving him the same speech over and over.
There was nothing they could do.
Everything medically possible had already been done for you.
Your condition was severe.
All anyone could do was wait.
They should consider their options.
Cail didn’t like the way any of those sounded.
Neither did Dean.
Which was why the doctor was being screamed at.
Cail sighs, and let’s his head rest against your hand, nuzzling it with his face.
You were covered in thick blankets, lots of tubes and pipes running out of your skin. You were bandaged up, and they had a funny thing over your mouth that Dean had said was to help you breathe, the machine doing it when you were too tired too.
He said you were just sleeping, that the “car accident” had wore you out.
But you were dying, weren’t you?
You were going on… Vacation.
Like his goldfish did, before you replaced them like he couldn’t tell the difference.
Cail sighs.
Sam had been there earlier, and he was having to use crutches to walk, his leg wrapped up; he’d let Cail draw all over it, though, so it was full of dinosaurs and stick cowboys, some stars and space ships.
Dean had a cast too, on his arm, but Cail hadn’t drawn on it.
He’d barely seen Dean.
They’d been in the hospital three days now, and Sam had been with Cail more then his father.
Dean was too busy trying to find a way to make you better.
Cail hopes he can.
He prays for it, like he’d heard some of his teachers or other kids mom’s do; they always said they’d pray for the person ill, that sometimes God would work miracles and heal the person.
Would he heal you?
If Cail prayed really hard and begged, would God make you all better so you wouldn’t have to leave him?
Because the little boy didn’t know what else to do.
He’d spent hours talking to you, telling you about the space bandaid he had on his forehead, how nice the nurses were, bringing his snacks and coloring books, finding him cartoons and movies on TV. They even snuck him ice cream.
He’d —.
“Son of a bitch!”
Cail flinches, and looks over as Dean stalks into the room, his face scratched up and furious, although  he didn’t get any special bandaids.
He doesn’t say anything as he moves to the windows, glaring out them at nothing, brooding.
Cail hesitates as he looks at him.
He was scared.
He doesn’t know if he should talk to Dean or not, but he really didn’t want to…
“Dean?”
Dean hesitates, then turns.
“What is it?”
“What’s… What’s going on?”
Deans jaw works a moment.
“Just trying to find some good doctors for your mother, that’s all.”
“But you can’t find any?”
Dean pauses, his jaw working a moment.
“I’m gonna find somebody,” he mutters, turning to look at Cail where he sits on your bed, his feet dangling. “I’m not… I’m not gonna…”
“Let her go on vacation?” Cail supplies solemnly, and Dean sighs, nodding.
He walks over to green chair pushed close to the bed, sitting down heavily with a sigh. Cail hops off the bed, quickly climbing into Deans lap and snuggling up, burying his face against his neck wearily.
Dean hesitates, then let’s his fingers run through his sons hair affectionately.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean murmurs after a moment, pressing his lips against Cails forehead. “I swear. Your mama’s gonna be okay.”
Cail just sighs.
He hopes so.
They sit there for a little while, both of them dozing off; Dean had barely slept ten hours the entire time you’d been in the hospital,  and Cail…
He had nightmares when he slept.
He’d never had nightmares before, not like the ones he was experiencing.
You had always protected him from that.
but now…
~~~~
Sam sighs as he stands in the elevator, leaning heavily on his crutches as he waits for it to reach your floor.He’d gone back to the hotel, showered and slept, and was now heading back with some food.
He figures Dean and Cail would be hungry.
The elevator doors ding, and he slowly begins his way forward, aggravated with having to move at the pace of a snail, not quite comfortable with his crutches.
There was never a functioning angel when you need one…
Cas had looked shocked when he’d realized Dean had a son, mirroring the same look Dean had had when he’d found out.
He’d looked shocked, then guilty.
Because he had known.
All the angels knew.
Of course they knew, the vessel of Michael having a son meant the Winchester line would carry on, especially since Sam was the vessel of Lucifer.
There’d had to be another.
And since their brother was technically dead….
Well, it had been decided that you, a strong mortal woman who had faced such harsh odds and always come out on top, a woman who was already head over heels for the Winchester, would be the perfect candidate for bearing a Winchester child.
Just like John and Mary, your relationship had been in the works long before you were born, and a lot of work had gone into choosing someone who could withstand the odds other Winchester women had been against and lost.
Why else would a family prone to having only boys would suddenly produce a daughter?
Why else had your mother passed away so young, leaving your father to raise you the hard way, just like his sons?
You’d been perfect.
At least, that was what Castiel had explained to Sam, his shoulders slumped.
He’d never thought that Dean would ever find out about his child, and had honestly forgotten it after all that had happened in the past years.
Your pregnancy had been no “accident” like you’d thought.
But Sam wasn’t sure he should tell that.
He wasn’t sure he should tell Dean anything about it.
It would destroy him.
Infuriate him.
Make him feel like you had been used, which you had, and that you’d never had a chance at anything remotely peaceful, that his existence had caused you grief.
So, Sam had decided, he wasn’t going to say a word.
He wouldnt tell Dean.
Or you, if you got better.
He wouldn’t tell anyone.
And neither would Castiel.
Not only would Dean be pissed at him, but…
Well, some things were better left unknown.
Ignorance was bliss.
Especially in this case.
Sam sighs as he reaches your open door, but pauses.
Dean and Cail were asleep, the small boy curled up in his father’s arms, Deans head resting on Cails.
“Isn’t that post card worthy?”
Sam jumps slightl, twisting around to stare at Crowley where he stands beside him, gazing inside the hospital room.
“What the hell, Crowley?” Sam hisses softly.
“What? Can’t a man admire a family picture? They’ve been like that for an hour or so now, I’ve not had the heart to wake them,” the demon chuckles.
Sam rolls his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Welp, I think I found a little solution to mother dearest condition over there. See, I do recall some "rogue” angels on earth… With some lovely grace for the taking…“
~~~~
"Excuse me, Mr. Winchester?”
Dean stirs after a moment, blinking sleepily as he raises his head to look at the nurse.
She gives him a gentle smile.
“Sir, I brought you and Mr. Cail some dinner, if you’d like.”
Dinner?
How long had he been asleep?
Dean stirs slightly, glancing down as he feels a heavy weight against his chest. Cail was sleeping soundly, his tiny arms twining around Deans neck, his breathing even beneath his red t shirt.
Right.
“Thank you,” Dean mumbles, rubbing his face, the cast on his arm annoying.
The nurse smiles before setting the trays down on the rolling table, glancing at you where you lay, unmoving. Your chest moved steadily, but that was the only inclination you were alive, and half the time Dean wasn’t sure if it was you breathing or the machine.
And then there was the beeping…
It had annoyed him at first, listening to it, but after a while he’d found it soothing; as long as that machine beeps, you have a chance, right?
Might be a snowballs chance in hell, or a Winchesters hope for a normal life, but it was something.
“She’s very lucky to have you for a husband,” the nurse says after a moment, turning her dark gaze on Dean. “To have you and your son here, waiting for her when she wakes up. It must be comforting.”
Dean just looks at her, his tired, scratched face telling her how he really felt about the situation.
“You know,” the nurse murmurs, leaning over slightly, her hand covering his, “sometimes, no matter what we do, you can’t save or help everyone. Sometimes you need to let them go, to say goodbye.”
“We’re not saying goodbye,” Dean mutters, jerking his hand away from hers. “No fucking way. She’s gonna get better.”
The nurse looks sad as she straightens, her dark eyes almost pitying.
“You shouldn’t waste the time you have to tell her how you feel, Dean; she can hear you, sometimes, and she deserves to know. She needs reassurance you’ll take care of Cail, that you’ll treat him so much better then her father did her when she lost her mother. She’s barely holding on by a thread.”
Dean stares at the nurse.
“Who the —?”
“You know who I am, Dean, and why I’m here. Death thought it would be best that you hear this from me, someone you know, rather then another reaper.”
Oh no.
Dean fills his heart sink.
“Tessa.”