#dean bartlett

Wes is still sleeping when he gets back to the house.

He greets the officer at the curb with a wave and then lets himself into the house.

Wes is in the recliner, tipped back and with his eyes closed.

His chest is rising and falling gently in a way that, after years of experience, Sean knows means that his son is sleeping peacefully.

He ghosts a hand over his forehead, relieved by the decreased warmth he feels there.

The fever is staying at a low level but he trusts that by the time they finish the prescribed course of antibiotics it will be knocked out entirely.

“Dad?” Wes mumbles sleepily, not even opening his eyes.

“Yeah, kiddo.” he says, brushing Wes’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m back.”

“What he say?” Wes asks.

“Spilling his usual bullshit.” Sean says. “But there is something that you should know.”

Wes opens his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“He didn’t even respond to Cassandra the first time she told him she was pregnant.” Sean says. “Or anything until Delila was a little older than five and they first diagnosed the PKD.”

Wes’s eyes narrow.

“Just like that he went from completely ignoring that he had another child out there to calling once a week.” Sean tells him. “Cassandra told herself – wanted to believe – that knowing Delila was sick woke up some kind of paternal instinct or at least guilt for him.”

“You don’t think so?” Wes asks.

“I think he found out his daughter was probably going to be needing a kidney at some point – a kidney that her biological half brother would be the logical place to start looking for – and saw a way to hurt you, kiddo.” Sean says.

Wes looks down.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, kiddo.” Sean says. “Delila wasn’t anything special that Dean could magically find it in himself to love when he couldn’t love you. The man is incapable of loving anyone but himself.”

“She is though.” Wes says.

Sean frowns.

“I hear what you’re saying.” Wes says looking up. “That there isn’t anything wrong with me. Just a hell of a lot wrong with him. But Delila is special, Dad. She is.”

Sean softens.

“She is.” he agrees. “Just like her brother.”

“I want to get to know her, dad.” Wes says. “She’s my little sister. Dean may have only pretended to care about her to get to me but I don’t… I don’t want to just watch her disappear into witness protection without trying to … I don’t know… just trying.”

“The Aryan Brotherhood has got one hell of a reach, son.” Sean says. “And Dean is selling everyone he can think of out trying to get a deal for himself but even if they get arrested… they’re a prison gang, Wes. Most of what they do is from the inside.”

“I know.” Wes says, looking away. “I know I sound like some idiot with no clue, looking at the situation emotionally and missing the reality of it.”

“Hey.” Sean says. “I get it. I’ve got a sister too, remember.”

Wes nods.

“I’ve got some old connections with the Brotherhood.” Sean says. “A million sounds like a lot of money but the real heat there isn’t about that.”

“It’s the betrayal.” Wes guesses.

“I can work some angles and try to get the heat off Delila and her mom.” Sean says. “Once they know that Dean was just using the girls as much as he used them, I think we can make it work.”

“You’d do that?” Wes asks.

“Kid.” Sean breathes. “What wouldn’t I do for you?”

“You think they’d take out Dean too?” Wes jokes.

“I don’t think anywhere in the American prison system is truly safe from a gang with the scale of the Brotherhood.” Sean says with a shrug. “Especially with him selling them up the river.”

“I should feel bad about that.” Wes says.

“Nah.” Sean dismisses. “The guy made his bed. No need to feel bad about him having to lie in it. Ten bucks they don’t kill him over it anyway. They’ll want to spend some time playing with their new toy.”

“I guess I can live with that.” Wes says quietly.

“I’ll make some calls.” Sean promises. “But now it’s time for your walk.”

“You focus so much on these walks.” Wes says as he pushes his blanket off to the side. “Maybe we should be for getting you a dog.”

“Let’s get you healed up first.” Sean tells him. “Figure things out with that sister of yours. Then we can talk about getting me a dog.”

“Can we look for a Scottish Terrier?” Wes asks, letting Sean take his hand and lever him to his feet.

“Whatever would we name him?” Sean says with a chuckle. “Tito is already taken.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t mind sharing.” Wes says, taking small steps around the recliner. “Or we could come up with something different. Something little puppers’ own.”

“What’s all this we?” Sean jokes. “You gonna come walk him all the way from Budapest?”

“Only on the weekends.” Wes teases.

“Maybe Delila can help out with him.” Sean says seriously. “Give me a chance to keep an eye out, make sure she’s safe.”

Wes turns, pulling him into a hug.

“Thanks dad.” he says quietly. “You know, in a lot of ways I really lucked out with Dean being such an asshole.”

“Yeah?” Sean asks, gently pulling his kid close. “How’s that?”

“I never would have met you if he wasn’t.” Wes says. “And even if he’d ever been bothered to try, he could never have lived up to the kind of dad that you are.”

“It shouldn’t take an effort to love your kid.” Sean says, cupping the back of his head. “Especially not a kid like you.”

Then he pulls back, pressing a kiss to Wes’s forehead and ruffling his hair.

“Now stop trying to distract me from this walk, huh?”

He’s not sure what good it’s going to do. 

Dean has never regretted his actions toward Wes. 

Has never experienced genuine regret for any of the shitty things that he’s done. 

Telling him he’d messed up won’t change anything. 

But Sean needs to say it. 

So he gets Wes settled for a nap and tells the agent watching the street that he’s heading out for an hour. 

Then he signs in at the prison. 

He’s sitting at the table when Dean is escorted into the interview room. 

He’s still got a solid black eye, a split lip and other bruises on his face. 

He glares over at him.

“You here to apologize or something?” he demands. “Oughta be charged with assault for what you did. Aggravated assault even.”

His face twists into a cruel smirk. 

“Just like I was all those years ago.” he says, tilting his head. “Then maybe someone swoops in while you’re away and steals the kid from you too.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Sean says. “Either side of it.”

He’d been contacted after Dean made complaints about his ‘assault’. 

Had made a statement that he’d found the man who had kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed his son standing over his unconscious son with a weapon in his hand. 

After having witnessed him bashing the doctor of the head with the butt of said weapon. 

He’d done what he felt like he needed to do to get Dean away from his son before he could hurt him any further. 

Openly admitted that he might have been a little rougher about it than strictly necessary. 

He’d gotten a half-hearted reprimand but been told that given the harm that Dean had already caused Wes by that point, they understood the need to get him away from Wes before he could hurt him any more. 

He’d had to get special permission to visit Dean today but as long as he doesn’t touch him – the fact that the whole visit will be recorded – they’ll be okay. 

“I went further than I meant to.” he admits. “Getting you away from Wes at the hospital. But don’t pretend you haven’t had that coming for a long time. And I couldn’t let you hurt my son any more.”

“My son.” Dean scowls. “He’s my son. Not yours.”

“Not anymore.” Sean says. “Not for a long time. You threw him away like trash.”

“I treated him like he deserved.” Dean said. “If that’s like trash, well.”

“Did you even care about Delila?” Sean accuses. “Cause I talked to Cassie. You didn’t care much about your daughter at all until Cassie told you she was sick. Until you found out she might need a kidney.”

“I was in prison.” Dean protests. “It’s not like I could show up to her piano recitals and stuff.”

“You never even spoke to her on the phone before that.” Sean says. “Then suddenly you’re calling once a week to talk about her day, about school.”

He clenches both fists on the table. 

“Wes is trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.” he says quietly. “Why you never loved him when you were proving that you were capable of love. Of showering one of your children with affection and concern.”

Dean smirks. 

“But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Sean demands. “You don’t magically love Delila. The whole thing was a performance to hurt Wes, wasn’t it?”

The smirk drops from Dean’s face. 

“Cassie told me your little girl was going to need a new kidney.” Sean drives. “Not if, just when. And you saw an opportunity.”

Dean shakes his head minutely. 

“You could kidnap Wes, torment him, put him through hell and then twist the knife by telling him that you were doing it to save your other child.” Sean growls. “Your other child who you actually gave a damn about.”

“I was just being a good dad.” Dean says. “My relationship with Wes’s mom was complicated. My relationship with Wes was complicated. Del was easier.”

“Delila was a weapon to you.” Sean hisses. “You were performative about your affection for her. Fuzzy slippers, nice pajamas, soft blankets and the like.”

“She was so sick.” Dean says. “I just wanted her to have nice things.”

“And the not nice things for Wes?” Sean says. “You think I don’t know that you probably put more money and effort into getting the crappy, cheap, scratchy hospital sheets and blankets from a hospital than you would have just getting sheets and blankets somewhere else that wouldn’t have been as scratchy.”

Dean scowls at him. 

“You went out of your way to make him uncomfortable.” Sean says, leaning forward. “To paint the contrast between what you were willing to provide for him versus your little princess.”

“If he’d just been willing to help his sister.” Dean scoffs. 

“You never even gave him the chance.” Sean explodes. “If you’d told him what was going on, that she needed a kidney, he would have helped in a heartbeat. But it wouldn’t have given you the chance to hurt him that you were looking for, wouldn’t have let you play the big man hero like you wanted to.”

“What do you even want from me?” Dean demands. 

“Not a damn thing.” Sean scoffs, standing up. “I just wanted to tell you that I see right through your bullshit. That you won’t hurt either of those kids ever again. Because neither of them need jack shit from you. Delila has her mom. Has her big brother. They’ll take good care of her and never let you anywhere near her – even by phone call again. And Delila knows who you are now.”

He turns to knock on the door before turning back. 

“As for Wes. He’s got me.” he says coldly. “Stay the hell away from my son.”

The door opens and he steps through with the guard. 

He’s done with this loser. 

Time to get back to his kid. 

Wes opens his eyes as he hears the wheelchair wheels in the hallway. 

He’s beyond exhausted and however much the doctor tells him that’s to be expected – that it’s going to take a while for that to go away – after what he’s been through, it still sucks. 

Though he has to give Dr. Richards some serious kudos for the fact that the man hasn’t called him an idiot yet. 

At least not to his face or where he can hear him. 

He’s had plenty of doctors who stood in the hallway just outside his room and talked about what a dumbass he was for whatever events had caused his injuries. 

And not to say that it isn’t sometimes true but he doesn’t always have a choice in matters. 

Maybe they are lucky enough to have never been forced to push through an injury and do things that they absolutely shouldn’t have been doing with their body in its current state in order to keep themselves alive. 

He isn’t. 

Only about thirty or so percent of the times that he’s been injured in his life has he had the luxury to lie still and rest. 

But Dr. Richards is in a minority as far as being able to recognize that. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe he just has the tact to wait until Wes can’t hear him before he calls him an idiot. 

Add in the fact that he’d vouched for Wes’s dad after he’d given Dean the beat down that he’s had coming for a long time – though that might be more to do with the fact that Dean had just pistol whipped him – and arranging for someone to bring Delila to see him. 

His sister is watching him with an expression he’s very familiar with. 

It’s the expression of someone who’s just waiting to be yelled at. 

It had been his default until he was fourteen or fifteen years old. 

“‘m’not mad at you.” he croaks. 

“You sound like shit.” she says quietly. 

Cam pushes the wheelchair a little bit closer to the bed. 

“I’ll give you guys a minute.” she says. 

His dad follows her into the hall and the door closes softly behind them. 

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a long time. 

“I’m sorry.” Delila whispers. “I should have just listened to you. When you asked me for help.”

“He lied to you.” he manages. 

“He said that he told you everything.” Delila says. “That you knew I needed a kidney, that my heart was at risk of failing. He said that you refused to help me because you were still mad at him.”

“He wanted to be the hero.” Wes says with a shrug. 

“He’s an idiot.” Delila says. “If he’d come back and told me that he talked to you for me, that you’d agreed to help, he still would have been my hero. He’s my daddy.”

Wes flinches. 

“I’m sorry.” she repeats. “I know he was never that for you. I mean, I don’t… I saw the difference in the way that he treated us. Saw the way you weren’t surprised when he treated you badly so I … I’m guessing he was never good to you like he was to me. I don’t really get that but I … I know that has to hurt for you. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need him.” Wes says slowly, looking away. 

“That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have had him.” she says, reaching out to take his hand. 

Then she sighs. 

“He’s kind of bad at being a dad, anyway.” she points out. “Even when he’s trying. He spent most of my life in prison and then even when he got out his bright idea to help me out was to steal money from one of the most violent prison gangs in America.”

“Not his first bad money idea.” Wes says. 

“Really?” she asks. “He always acted like he was good with money.”

“Lying liar that lies.” he says and she sighs. 

“I’m starting to get that.” she says. “I… I always used to just talk to him on the phone. He’d call at Christmas and my birthday. Other times too but always then. I thought… I thought he was just a guy who made some mistakes but was a good dad. I guess that was pretty naive, huh?”

“We’re supposed to be able to trust our parents.” Wes says. “He never had the chance before now to show you that he didn’t deserve it.”

“I guess not.” she says. “But I’m still sorry. I should have trusted you when you said you wanted to help me. We could have had the surgery at an actual hospital where you could have stayed in bed to recover like you should have instead of almost dying.”

“Might have happened anyway.” he says. 

“So there could have been complications.” she dismisses. “That doesn’t mean they were likely.”

“None of us had any idea Dean was in hot water with the Aryans.” Wes tells her. “If you’d listened when I asked, Dean would have been in custody and we wouldn’t have necessarily had protection.”

“You still may have had to fight them off.” she says slowly. 

“Or you might have been hurt.” he says. “I’d rather have it this way.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that.” she says, tilting her head. 

“Neither does my dad.” he jokes. 

Wes is in the ICU and in bad shape.

The doctors at the urgent care where Dean had paid twenty grand for monitoring, pain management and antibiotics for Delila for a few days had repaired the external stitches that he’d popped carrying his sister to the car but they hadn’t had the training or equipment to do anything for the internal bleeding.

Human kidneys are surrounded by a veritable cradle of blood vessels, bringing blood in to be filtered and then carrying it away afterward.

The actual surgeons at the hospital he’d been rushed to after Cam and Andre had found him are estimating that his actions in the first hour or so after waking up from surgery had undone the sealing of over half of those vessels.

He’d been left quietly bleeding out ever since.

His life or death struggle with the three hundred pound hulking giant Harris Carter hadn’t helped the situation.

As if the blood loss isn’t bad enough, he’s also developed an infection that the urgent care doctor’s rather pitiful attempt at treating hadn’t done much for.

Delila is nigh on inconsolable.

She’s sixteen years old and has been sick her entire life; dealing with medications, pain and countless procedures to drain fluid from particularly large cysts.

She’d started dialysis before she was ten years old to try to buy time to find a replacement for kidneys too riddled with constant cysts to function but despite over six years now on the waiting list, there have been no matches.

Six months ago she was told that the decreased function of her kidneys was starting to affect her heart.

That she needed a new kidney.

Soon.

Dean had told her that Wes had refused to help.

That he’d chosen to take his issues with his biological father out on his half-sister, leaving her to die without even being tested.

She’d been scared and she’d trusted her father to help her.

Right up until she’d woken up after surgery to find the brother that she’d been promised would be released once she had her kidney lying on the floor of her hospital room; bound, bleeding and burning up.

Until she'd watched him fight tooth and nail against an opponent twice his size while in that condition to save her.

All while the father that she'd trusted to save her - to keep her safe- was nowhere to be found.

The knowledge that the complications that he’s facing are unnecessary, that if she’d placed her faith in him instead of Dean this could all have been avoided, is tearing the teen apart.

Cam doesn’t know what to say to her.

She’s right.

There was no need for Wes to be drugged and knocked unconscious, held against his will and moved between multiple locations.

He and Delila could have been checked into a hospital with the correct accreditation to perform a transplant surgery and then given cohesive postoperative care.

The procedure would have been cheaper without all of the black market markups and largely paid for by insurance which would have eliminated the need for stealing money from the Aryan Brotherhood which would have keep Wes from having to fight several hitters within twelve hours of abdominal surgery.

To add to Delila’s distress, her mother is still in federal custody.

Her eventual cooperation, a small list of honest answers that had contributed in some small way to finding them, will earn her some leniency but the decision on eventual charges is out of Cam’s hands.

Though she wishes, for Delila’s sake, that they would consider some kind of house arrest agreement so the young girl could have her mother while she’s recovering from surgery and grappling with the realization that Dean hadn’t really been trying to save her after all.

Dean who is still in the wind.

According to Delila, they’d fought over his treatment of Wes and the man had stormed off to go get coffee just before Harris Carter had arrived.

Something had tipped him off that it wasn’t safe to return and she really hopes it was because they were there and he didn’t want to be arrested.

Not because he realized the Aryans were there and decided to abandon his children to their anger.

But for now, Delila is alone bar Cam herself and a pair of FBI agents sitting on the door in case more Aryans show up.

And while he’s currently too deeply unconscious to be aware of it, Wes finally has his dad.

After the initial calls to manage the scene; getting Harris Carter taken into custody, getting crime scene out to process the room, pulling patrol units to search the area for Dean or more Aryans and arranging ambulances to take Wes and Delila to a proper hospital – her next call had been to her boss’s dad.

Sean had flown into town almost as soon as they’d confirmed that Wes was missing.

Had already had his flight booked by the time he’d called her to ask if she’d heard from his son.

Had beaten them to the hospital by at least fifteen minutes.

Had paced the waiting room anxiously the entirety of the two hours that Wes was in the OR having the consequences of two fights within twelve hours of major abdominal surgery repaired.

Had been shown to his son’s bedside the moment he’d reached PACU and as far as she’s aware, hasn’t left since.

“I’m sorry, sir, can I see your ID please?”

She looks up as one of the agents at the door challenges someone.

“Of course.” A familiar voice says. “Sean Mitchell. I was just hoping to check in.”

Delila’s eyes are furrowed in confusion as she looks away from the tv she’s been staring silently at for the last two hours.

Cam stands up.

“He’s good.” She tells the agents. “Hey. Is Wes alright?”

“He’s okay.” Sean promises. “Andre’s sitting with him for a minute. I just wanted to come see how Delila is doing.”

“I’m fine.” She says bitterly. “Dean actually gave a crap about taking care of me after surgery.”

“Hey.” Sean says softly. “I see the man, we are going to have words, maybe a few fists, but what he did isn’t on you.”

“I let him do it.” She whispers. “Wes asked me for help. Said Dean’s way wasn’t in either of our best interests. That he wanted to help me but it would be better through a real hospital. But I believed the lies Dean told me. And now he’s… are you sure he’s okay?”

“They aren’t crazy about the infection but he’s recovering.” Sean assures her. “And you trusted the adults in your life to be honest with you, to take care of you. It’s kind of what you’re meant to do.”

“But he lied.” She says. “He lied and he hurt your son and I… I knew Wes didn’t want to be there. That he wasn’t down with any of it but I just…”

“You didn’t want to die.” Sean says. “It’s okay that you were scared, Delila. He’ll be okay. And issues with how Dean did this aside, he doesn’t regret helping you.”

She sighs.

“Just keep taking care of yourself.” Sean says. “Please. Because if you stress and self sabotage and end wasting that kidney, I will end up being a little cross with you.”

She nods.

“I’m glad Wes has a dad like you.” She tells him. “Cause Dean really did treat him like shit.”

Sean’s face twists for a moment.

“I can’t imagine not loving that kid.” He says quietly.

Delila offers him a weak smile.

“I just hope he’ll still give me the chance to.”

“He will.” Sean assures her. “That’s just who he is.”

Harris steps into the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Bartlett wandered off already.” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Should have known.”

“He does that.” Wes says stiffly, shifting his weight.

The ropes around his wrists leave his hands out of the equation for the moment but as the scrawny kid who was often the target of bullies he’d learned early on to use his legs to his advantage.

Though his compromised core strength won’t make that easy right now.

“Yes.” Harris agrees. “The man is certainly a coward. How his son ended up as an FBI agent, we’ll never know.”

So they’ve figured out who he is.

“DNA was about the extent of his contribution to anything about me.” Wes says.

“And yet for his little girl, he stole over a million dollars from one of the most dangerous men on the west coast.” Harris taunts.

There’s no time to entertain his inner hurt little boy.

“More concern for sure.” he agrees. “But not exactly more helpful. How about we just agree the man’s a waste of space and none of us like him much?”

Harris smirks.

“An easy agreement.” he says. “But unfortunately, Patrick won’t be satisfied with that. He wants his money back.”

“Not sure Dean will ever be able to pay back the auto loan he managed to get approved when I was five, much less a million dollars.” Wes says.

“Perhaps not.” Harris says, stepping toward the bed. “Fortunately, a pretty girl like her can make a man a lot of money.”

“Not while she’s recovering from surgery.” Wes cautions. “And taking care of her for the next two months seems a little out of your wheelhouse. Why not take a step back, let her mom nurse her back to health and then you can swing back around when she’s back on her feet?”

When Wes is back on his feet to protect her.

“And give you a chance to move her into protective custody, I’m sure.” Harris scoffs. “I may be muscle rather than brains but I’m not an idiot.”

Wes takes a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

“Really?” he says. “Cause all the reports say you’re an inbred moron. Isn’t your mom also your sister?”

It works.

Harris turns away from the bed, stepping toward him with a snarl.

“You’re no use to Patrick.” he says. “Any money your connections could make us is outweighed by the risk of trusting a snake such as yourself. But I will enjoy leaving your eviscerated corpse on the floor for your father to see when he returns.”

“Yeah.” Wes chuckles. “I bet you will.”

He subtly tenses the muscles in his left leg, getting ready to throw something while hopefully not telegraphing his plans too much.

A fist flies toward his face and he rams his knee up, catching Harris’s wrist and redirecting it.

The fist slams into the wall instead, shattering drywall just above the eyebolt his wrists are secured to.

Well that worked better than he’d even hoped for.

A hard yank and it comes free, swinging out to rake across the left side of Harris’s face.

He follows it up with a headbutt that knocks him on his ass.

And then he scrambles to his feet.

He can feel the adrenaline pumping, knows that he’ll regret this later, but right now later doesn’t mater.

All that matters is right now.

That this piece of shit doesn’t get the chance to hurt Delila.

Harris stumbles to his feet, one hand pressed against the side of his face where blood is running freely from a gash left by the eyebolt.

“A tough guy, huh?” he growls. “That just makes this more fun.”

Wes has to play this smart.

Harris has at least three inches and potentially as much as a hundred pounds on him.

Even at his best, he would be at a significant disadvantage in this fight.

He’s not at his best.

Adrenaline is keeping the pain at bay, erasing most of his fatigue but even it can only do so much.

He needs a weapon.

Mentally apologizing to his sister, he reaches out to grab her IV stand.

A quick flick dislodges the IV bag and then he’s swinging it around, catching Harris across the throat as the man charges him.

Harris drops to his knees, gasping for breath with his hands coming up to clutch his throat and Wes drives the advantage, ramming an elbow into the side of his temple.

The blow stuns Harris but Wes pays for it as he crashes to the ground himself, twisting to land on his left side.

He springs up, using the ropes still binding his wrists to his advantage as he presses them across his opponent’s throat.

Hooks his left leg around Harris’s waist, pressing their bodies together to block the man from throwing any cheap shots at his vulnerable abdomen.

Braces his hands against the back of Harris’s head to pull the rope into a tight chokehold.

Harris struggles angrily against him, arms flailing wildly as he tries to punch at any part of Wes that he can reach to force him to release his hold but Wes ignores it, focusing on getting his slower moving right leg into place to help pin the man’s legs.

If he can just maintain pressure a little longer, Harris will black out.

Maybe Dean will come back or maybe Delila can move well enough to grab the gun Wes can feel stuffed into the back of his waistband.

Maybe the size of him combined with the lack of funds to take Delila to another hospital will be enough to convince Dean to let the FBI help him keep his family safe.

Just as Harris finally falls still, the door swings open behind him and Wes twists to look back.

Tries to decide what to say depending on if it’s Dean or one of the nurses.

Hopes it isn’t another member of the Brotherhood.

It’s Cam and Andre, weapons drawn and he sags in relief.

“You okay?” Andre says, stepping toward them. “Let’s get him off of you. That looks painful.”

“Yeah.” he breathes. “S’gotta be his gun. Don’t think he’s very happy to see me.”

Then he promptly blacks out.

Delila is awake.

Wes had watched through blurry eyes, exhausted by the fever burning through his system but unable to fall asleep, as she squeezes Dean’s hand, smiling weakly at him.

“Daddy?” she whispers and he can’t help but remember being yelled at as a toddler for calling the man that.

“Hey angel.” Dean coos, brushing her hair back from her face. “How you feeling?”

“Fuzzy.” she mumbles. “Thirsty.”

Dean picks up a glass from the side table, guiding the straw to her mouth.

“Any pain?”

“Jus’ feels a little… tight.” she says. “Did it work?”

“Everything went good.” Dean assures her. “Just gotta heal up from the surgery and make sure you follow the anti-rejection protocols and you’ve got something like twenty good years to look forward to. No more dialysis, no more failing heart.”

The relief in her eyes is unmistakable, even from this distance and as shitty as he feels.

Wes hates how this went down, wants to punch Dean in the face for the way that he’s been treated since then, but he’ll never regret Delila getting his kidney.

Is happy that her body seems to be accepting the transplant and hopes that it continues to do so without major issues.

She glances over and their eyes meet.

“Dad?” she questions, sounding confused. “What is he.. I thought you said you were going to let him go after the surgery? Get him to a hospital to recover.”

“There’s been some complications.” Dean says cagily. “It wasn’t safe yet.”

“Why is he on the floor?” she demands, gasping as she tries to sit up. “Is that blood?”

“I only reserved one bed here.” Dean says, looking unbothered. “Wasn’t planning on post-operative care for him too. And there isn’t money left for a bigger room or a second bed.”

The doctor earlier had mentioned a cot or a recliner being moved into the room.

The way he’d said it had made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d made the offer.

Dean had declined.

Delila’s eyes narrow.

“He’s sick.” she accuses.

“Minor infection.” Dean says. “He’s getting antibiotics. He’ll be fine.”

There’s nothing minor about the infection.

Nobody has bothered to so much as run a thermometer across his forehead but he’s pretty sure you could boil an egg on it right now.

He’s breathing shortly, rapid shallow breaths that feel less and less like they’re enough all the time.

Shivering fiercely with a full body ache that feels like it’s somehow deeper than his bones.

Couldn’t lift his head right now if he tried.

The antibiotics that the doctor had offered out of the kindness of his heart – or the desire to avoid being arrested by murder, take your pick – aren’t working.

Nobody has even offered him a blanket.

By his best estimate, he’s less than twelve hours past surgery but he’s already well on his way to a length stay in an ICU.

Or a coffin.

“He needs help, dad.” Delila says. “You need to call an ambulance for him. Or tell the doctor to get him different antibiotics.”

“Why does it matter?” Dean scoffs. “He didn’t even want to help you, remember? I told him you were sick. That you were dying and needed his help and he told me it wasn’t his problem.”

The short, humorless laugh Wes responds with is limited to a burst of air from his nose.

But Delila notices.

“You didn’t even tell him, did you?” she says quietly. “You didn’t actually ask him or even tell him what was going on.”

“Would I lie to you, baby girl?” Dean says, having the nerve to look hurt.

“You promised me he would be okay.” she says. “That you’d make sure nothing bad would happen to him and that as soon as the surgery was done you’d drop him off at a hospital where they would take good care of him and where his friends and his dad would be there to help him recover.”

“I am his dad.” Dean says bitterly. “Some asshole swooping in while I was in prison and stealing my kid can’t change genetics, can’t change the fact that I will always be his father.”

“Then fucking act like it.” Delila snaps. “You said this was about doing what had to be done to take care of your kid. And I believed you, I thought you were protecting me, but he’s your kid too and you’re not taking very good care of him right now.”

“I saved your life, you ungrateful brat.” Dean growls.

“You made this whole thing harder than it needed to be.” Delila says, tears welling up in her eyes. “We could have done this in a real hospital, had proper care afterwards, but you needed to be the hero. And I got lucky but Wes is paying the price for your ego.”

Dean stands up.

“I’m going to go get some coffee.” he scowls. “And I suggest that you check your attitude before I get back.”

He storms out of the room and Delila turns to Wes.

“I’m sorry.” she whispers. “You were right. You were right and I should have just listened to you. I’m so sorry.”

She starts to sit up again.

“Do-”

Wes cuts off as the door slams open.

Is Dean back already?

It’s not Dean looming between the doorframe though but a tall, broad-shouldered man with his hair grown just past his ears and hanging scraggily and greasy.

Wes worked law enforcement in Los Angeles a little too long not to recognize the face.

Harris Carter.

A deadly and vicious enforcer for the Aryan Brotherhood.

The main clean-up guy for Patrick Snow.

They’ve never been able to make charges stick but Wes has seen his work.

It’s not pretty.

Wes’s little sister will not be the next example.

This whole situation is a mess.

They’d watched on the security cameras as Dean had stood back, watching with a gun in hand while Wes had loaded Delila into the backseat of a grey sedan.

She’s not sure how Dean Bartlett is even a human, let alone Wes’s literal father, given the entirely impassive way that he’d regarded Wes as he’d struggled to keep up with what was being asked of him.

Even from the angle and distance of the cameras it’s easy to see that their boss is in massive amounts of pain.

Running entirely on adrenaline.

That being out of bed, let alone carrying a teenage girl, is something that never should have been asked of him.

Blood is blossoming over his abdomen where he’s ripped out stitches.

As if that impassiveness isn’t enough to negate his human status, once Delila is settled, Wes steps back – visibly breathing hard, eyes closed and with one hand on his knee as he bends at the waist – and Dean pops open the trunk.

Clubs Wes over the head and then carelessly manhandles him inside.

The fact that it’s clearly a struggle for him gives her some satisfaction but not much.

From Cassandra’s eventual admission, she knows this is the second blow to the head that Wes has taken.

He’s visibly bleeding externally and she has no doubt there is internal bleeding as well.

Infection is a risk and while every indication says that Dean will try to safeguard his precious princess from that, he isn’t likely to do the same for Wes.

And she’s not sure how far he can be trusted to get it right even when he’s trying.

The man has made one questionable decision after another.

The good news is that they have something to go on here.

The ambulance company has given them the location where Wes had been held prior to the surgery and an urgent care Dean had paid to do a CT scan.

She’s not optimistic that it will help find Wes but she gets a crime scene unit out to the makeshift hospital ward.

More importantly, Dr. Evans has given them access to track back the payments Dean had made for the surgery.

Amanda is running through that looking for other payments, hopefully where he’s paid for post operative care.

Hopefully where the three of them are now.

It confuses her that he hasn’t reached out to Cassandra.

She knows both parents were more than aware that how Dean was handling this was illegal.

That Wes’s career would mean it wouldn’t be long before law enforcement was on the trail.

But surely a mother would want some way to at least be notified that the surgery had gone well if not to meet up with them afterward to be with her daughter while she recovers.

Is Dean planning to just disappear after this is over? Send Cassandra a message to pick up her daughter and trust that the FBI won’t pursue action against them without proof that Cassandra was aware of what was happening?

How will that change now that the Brotherhood is on their tail?

Does he have a plan to keep them safe if they catch up again?

Or will he be counting on Wes to step again?

The cameras inside the clinic have revealed that has it not been for Wes being a dumbass yet again, Dean would probably be dead right now.

Wes had overpowered the man sent in to either kill or capture him and then had proceeded to go check on the others rather than hiding and calling for help.

If she has to guess from their conversations, it had been Delila and the medical staff that he’d been concerned with protecting.

Dean he would have let fry.

Probably should have let fry.

Instead he’d risked his life and sacrificed his health to protect Dean and his beloved daughter.

And the man had chosen a pretty shitty way to repay him.

She officially takes back every complaint she’s ever made about her own parents.

They made mistakes, even some things that hurt her badly.

But they’ve never been this needlessly cruel.

Never hurt her with the only reason seeming to be the desire to hurt her.

Dean Bartlett is a monster.

She turns slowly around in the clean white space.

Looks at the two hospital beds.

That monstrosity is reflected even here.

The hospital style restraints left in place on the rails of one bed that are missing on the other.

The starchy, thin sheet and blanket on that same bed while the sheets and blanket have been taken from the other, suggesting that they were quality enough to be worth taking.

The padlock on the door.

The chair sitting beside only one bed.

Suggesting that only one child was worth a bedside vigil.

Crime scene has collected trace evidence and fingerprints that will confirm who had used each bed but she doesn’t need that.

Her phone rings.

“Please tell me you’ve got something.” She begs Amanda.

Her boss is a grown man and a professional badass but that doesn’t stop the desperate need to bring him home so his dad can nurse him back to health.

So that the only real dad he’s ever had can give him all of the love and affection that he deserves.

Because Wes Mitchell is one of the best bosses she’s ever had.

He’s a good man and this isn’t right.

“Dean’s payments went into shell companies and it took a minute to trace them to actual accounts but there’s a Vanguard Urgent care. I was able to pick up the car he left the clinic in on several nearby cameras. I’ve sent you the address.”

Time to go.