A/N: So after watching Infinity war this kind of scene was stuck in my head for quite some time now and I finally decided to write it down. English is not my native language so beware. Also is this my first fanfiction so reviews are gladly appreciated. Enjoy!
(John's POV)
Blood… so much blood... that was the only thing John Winchester's mind could register at this very moment. Like in trance he stared at his hands, decorated in warm, sticky, blood.
A human body contains about 5 to 6 litres of blood. That's what Sam had taught him last week while learning for some test for school. John was doing some research on a possible hunt and couldn't get Sam to shut up about human anatomy. "I beg you didn't know that, Dad" "You're right I didn't, Sammy", he had replied with an exasperated sigh. Indeed John never thought he would ever think about such random information in his life ever again but here he was, while caked in blood that wasn't even his own.
A soft whimper brought the oldest Winchester back to reality. His eyes refocused on his 14 year-old son laying helplessly on the cold forest ground with 3 deep lacerations from a werewolf claw in his stomach about to bleed to death.
John sprung back into action and started examining his son's wounds, trying to blend out the pained moans as good as he could. "You're doing great, Dean. Everything will be alright", he said in a soft voice giving reassuring smiles. He could tell how Dean was clinging to every word he said, desperately wanting to believe his Dad, although he and John both knew better.
This was not just a little scratch which would heal with a bandage and some good night's sleep. This needed stitching fast and at this point eventually even a blood transfusion. Even tough John tried to hide it, Dean could see right behind the façade. He could tell how worried his Dad was.
Dean always could do that, seeing into people, always knowing their true feelings, even if they tried to hide them. He definitely got that from his mother. John had always admired and sometimes envied him for that, especially when it came to Sam.
It seemed like Dean was the only one who had a chance of communicating with the youngest Winchester nowadays. Every time John tried to build up a conversation, it always ended in an intense fight and Sam not talking with him for the next few days. He really was at a loss with the boy at the moment.
To Dean that never happened. He always knew how to handle the Teenager. John knew that that was somewhat his fault. He was away too often to build up a close relationship with his youngest. So of course was Dean more of a father figure to Sam than he ever will be. Realising that made his heart ache every time, but he told himself he was doing the right thing. Saving people, hunting things, he made the world a better place. He kept his sons safe, right? It was situations like this where he started questioning everything he did.
Dean whimpered when John tried to get the ripped T-shirt off of his son's stomach, some already dried blood making it a lot more painful and difficult.
"Almost got it. You're doing great, buddy", John whispered softly. When he didn't get any reply or other sound, he looked up worried, just to find his son laying motionless, his eyes closed.
"Hey, common I need you to stay awake, Dean". John slightly padded Dean's cheek. His son awoke with a moan and the oldest Winchester sighed in relief. "It's important that you stay awake. Remember, I taught you that", John said. Dean just gave a curt nod. His lips tightly pressed together, to not let any sound escape, his green eyes big, glassy and full of pain. It hurt to see his son like that, but John couldn't focus on comforting him right now, he had other work to do: making sure Dean didn't bleed to death right now.
"Alright", John turned his attention back to the wounds. He took off his already ruined flannel and ripped it into strips, to use as temporary bandages. He secured them around Dean's stomach, and told him to put pressure on them. Dean obeyed and pressed his trembling hands onto his stomach with all the strength he had left. John fished his cell phone out of his pocket, not leaving Dean out of his sight.
"Bobby? This is John. I need your help." John shortly explained the situation to Bobby, who said he would be there in 2 hours, but John knew Dean wouldn't last that long, at least not without any medical help. So they only had one choice. John returned to his son and crouched down in front of him. Dean blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, his face way too pale for John's liking.
"Alright, Dean. Help is on the way. Bobby will be here as fast as he can, but we can't wait for him here. I need to stich up the wounds and the first aid kid is in the Impala. So we have to walk back there", John hesitated shortly then continued: "Do you think you're up to that?"
"Yes s-sir", Dean replied determination visible on his face only his shaky voice giving him away. He was already trying to get up on his own, when John interfered. "Alright, slow down, buddy." John wrapped his arm carefully around his son's slim waist, and helped him up.
The walk back to the car was slow and so loud, if they hadn't killed the werewolf already, they definitely would have been his dinner by now. But John didn't think about complaining. He was glad that Dean was still upright at this point. The blood loss was visibly weakening his son which only urged John to go faster.
All of the sudden his thoughts wandered to his other son. Sam was probably worried sick by now back at the motel room, where they had left him. "Don't worry Sammy, just a little werewolf hunt. We'll be back in no time, you'll see". That's what Dean had said and still Sam had begged them to tag along. Right now John thanked God for the decision of leaving him in the motel room. Who knows what could have happened. He really couldn't handle both of his sons hurt right now.
Lost in thought, John didn't notice a root sticking out of the ground. Before he could register what was happening he stumbled and hit the ground taking Dean down with him.
The next thing he heard was Dean's cries of agony. In one motion he was at his son's side trying to comfort his boy. Dean's sobs breaking John's heart, his eyes silently begging to take all the pain away. Dean took fast, short breaths trying to calm himself but of no avail, tears now freely streaming down his cheeks.
Just as John thought Dean got a grip again, violent coughs wrecked his son's body, making the pain even worse. That's when John noticed the blood speckling his son's lips and chin. 'That's not a good sign' was his first thought.
Dean noticed his father's stare on his lips and brought up a hand to his mouth. As soon as he laid eyes on the blood he started panicking. John couldn't blame him. A couple months ago they had worked a case a few states over. The victims were coughing up blood as well and none of them survived. They painfully died choking on their own blood. The hunt had bothered Dean the last few weeks anyway which wasn't helping.
And even if they hadn't worked the case, John always lectured Dean about how blood in the lungs means internal bleedings and death without immediate medical help.
John desperately tried to calm his trashing son. "Shh Dean, calm down, I'll get you to a hospital you'll be just fine". But his words fell on deaf ears. Dean grabbed his Dad's arm, the grip incredibly tight, his fearful, puffy, eyes looking right into John's. "Please don't let me die… I don't want to die, Dad, please…please help me", he whispered frantically, clinging to his Dad.
John didn't know what to say. The only thing he could hear was his heart shattering into a million pieces. Seeing his son falling apart like this, his strong, brave son, with his usual cocky smile and the sarcasm that was almost annoying at times, the person that could lit up a room simply by entering it. The person that patched him up so many times after rough hunts and told him everything would be OK. Who took care of Sammy, who would give everything he has to protect his family because he is the most genuine person out there.
Everything John did was pull his son into a tight hug. Dean, delirious and exhausted from blood loss and also scared like hell just kept whispering: "Please don't let me die… please" until he just started sobbing into his father's shoulder.
By now there were angry tears rolling down John's face as well. This was not how it was supposed to be. This was not how he and Mary had wanted it. They had wanted a normal life with a nice house and a happy family. With two boys who could go to college and have their own family and life happily ever after just like every other average family in America. That's what they wanted and now Mary was dead and Dean was bleeding out in the middle of nowhere on the dirty forest ground.
'Pull yourself together John. This is not the time for self-pity', his subconscious told him. John angrily wiped the tears away and refocused on his son. He took Dean's face, which had already turned a weird grey shade by now, into his hands. "I won't let you die. I won't let that happen. I promise you that". With that he hauled Dean back to his feet.
A/N: I'm thinking about eventually writing a second chapter, so leave a review to tell me what you think.