Disclaimer: 'Supernatural' and its characters belong to the CW studio. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Eternal
Something sticky dripped down his forehead as he tried to distinguish between the blaring of the horn that had been smashed by Sam's body and the thumping of his own heart. It hurt to breathe, his ribs were cracked but he forced his eyes to open even if he just wanted to sleep, his eyes drooped at the thought of slumber…sleep is good. No! He forced himself to sit upright in the warped frame of the passenger seat. He had to search for his sons. John Winchester turned his head slowly ignoring the lancing pain that raced through his body to look at Sam. His youngest son lay slumped over the steering wheel his mouth hanging open, harsh breaths fogging up what was left of the windscreen. At least that means he's breathing. John fumbled with his seat belt 'damn thing had saved his life in the crash but what had it done for him lately?' Good, sarcasm is good; it's a Winchester trait, that's got to be good right? Please god let my sons be okay. The belt came loose with a snap tearing shirt and skin away as it furled back into position by the door, or at least where the door had been before it had been hit by a bloody truck! Fuck, Dean will kill that demon for sure; no one messes with the Impala…… Dean.
Giving himself a mental slap John turned around in his seat, blood drenched the back of his seat, his shirt clung, unwilling to part from the warm liquid, John hoped it was his own, he didn't want to think about what it meant if it wasn't.
It wasn't.
Dean lay crumpled beneath the front seats. His body, flung from his resting place lying on the back seat, had rebounded and his head had been bashed against the rear windscreen. A spider web of cracks obscured the view of beyond. Blood had seeped through the leather and pooled on floor of the car. Dean's back was arched and his legs were broken, the bones snapped clean in two, or three, or four. His dark Jeans, already torn from the earlier fight were soaked with piss and blood from the gapping wound in his side. The blood no longer gushed as it would have when the shotgun from the boot of car had been forced through the rear seats and into his side, it now oozed out slowly, the blunt force of the wound prevented him bleeding out immediately, cauterizing the torn arteries and veins as it entered is chest cavity.
John documented these horrific injuries as any hunter would. He did not see his son lying dead in the backseat, his once strong and healthy body pulverised by a metal beast controlled by a monster. He saw a demon's victim, the same as he saw every day. It was not until he looked up and saw the face of his boy, lips chapped, eyes mercifully closed, covered slightly by a lock of blond hair hanging down in his eyes, and saw the son of his wife, the son he kissed goodnight every night until the day Dean said he was too big for that anymore. He was six at the time and sitting on some motel couch cleaning a colt magnum. He saw his baby lying dead. And John Winchester cried.
Sam woke to the sound of sobbing. Deep harsh sobbing. The kind that left you breathless and red faced, the kind that heaved your whole body, the kind that controlled your every thought. The kind that happened when one of your children dies.
Tears sprung Sam's face, their fall cleaning blood and grime from his cheeks. There was only one reason for his father to cry like that….
Dean!…
His name tore from his throat. He screamed it. Again and again he screamed it, willing his brother to shut him up, smack him over the head, kick him out and make him walk, to wake him up from his nightmare. Please Dean.
A hand found his shoulder and squeezed. His father's voice deep, yet no longer crisp and in control called him back from his reverie.
'Sam. Sam, SAM.'
Those eyes that had been so horribly blank whipped to his face. 'It's your fault. Christ why couldn't you have drank mum away instead of making us live this life?'
Sam's head rolled away from him to stare out the shattered window.
"Why did you make us die this life?" he whispered.
John turned back to look at Dean for a long moment and stretched out his hand to grab Sam's wrist.
"Do you want to go with him?' he asked urgently.
His son looked confused.
"Do you smell the petrol? One spark and we can go together."
Hand's trembling Sam fumbled in his pocket and pulled out Dean's silver lighter. For a long time they stared at the dull silver, mesmerised by the gleam of the moonlight on the small object. Sam flipped open the lid and manoeuvred his hand so that it held his fathers.
The two men looked at each other and John pulled Sam into his arms. Weeping into his father's shoulder Sam flicked the lighter and the whole world went bright.
Please review. This is my first real shot at an angst laden fic. Review and let me know how you think I did. Thanks for reading my story.