Before The Worst

Chapter 2

John stood at the rear of the Impala, opening its trunk with his spare key and scanning its contents with narrowed eyes until he found what he was looking for; the edge of the battered first aid kit peeking out from under a wool blanket Dean had inherited with the car.

John quirked a smile at the sight of the familiar green blanket – one he had had since his Marine days – and felt strangely nostalgic as he briefly remembered a time before Mary and kids and this life he now lived; this life fueled by whispers of grief and loneliness, of revenge and regret.

John felt his smile fade and reached for the first aid kit, wondering – not for the first time – if he was a bad father; if always searching for the next hunt and dragging his boys with him as he crisscrossed the country while doing so was the reason his sons – or at least his youngest – seemed to constantly get sick.

Before they had decided to have kids, Mary had given John "the speech"; the one about how children changed everything; about how kids needed safety and stability; needed nutritious food and a clean home; needed protection and love, and how they were going to give all of that and more to their kids.

And they had.

John and Mary had done damn good for those first four years.

But then...

John sighed, feeling a familiar ache in his chest; knowing he had failed miserably on the first four items of Mary's childrearing checklist since her death but hoping he had at least succeeded in fulfilling the last two – because he did love his boys and tried his best to protect them.

John sighed again – enough of that – and opened the kit; his fingers skimming the various items before grasping the small plastic bottle of liquid Tylenol.

Since pills made Sam gag on a good day, John knew there was no way he – or even Dean – was going to be able to coax their youngest into taking any kind of medicine that wasn't liquid on a day when the kid had already thrown up multiple times.

In fact, experience had taught that even liquid Tylenol wasn't always a sure bet to stay put once Sam swallowed it down on days like today, but they had to try something.

John was already concerned enough about Sam's current condition without sending the kid down the road with a climbing fever.

John nodded in agreement with himself and set the first aid kit back in the trunk, glancing at his sons as they approached; Dean's arm still protectively wrapped around Sam's thin shoulders as the boys joined him at the rear of the Impala.

"Read my mind, Dad..." Dean commented, nodding toward the bottle John held to further emphasize his words as they were muffled by the loud groan of an 18-wheeler crawling past them on its way back to the Interstate.

John smiled fondly, proudly – he and his oldest always seemed to be on the same wavelength, especially when it came to caring for a sick Sammy – and then frowned as he realized how light the medicine bottle felt in his grasp.

"Feels almost empty," John reported; removing the top and closing one eye as he peered into the bottle.

"Yeah, I know," Dean agreed. "Haven't had a chance to replace it since the last time Sam was sick."

John nodded, remembering Sam's sniffling and congestion from a couple weeks ago, and then smiled good-naturedly at his youngest. "You can never catch a break, can you kiddo?"

Sam smiled tiredly. "It's okay," he quietly assured, huddled inside his sweatshirt and still leaning against Dean as the boys continued to stand across from John at the rear of the Impala.