Words.
Summary. . . . . . . . A botched hunt results in harsh words, but is everything as it seems?
Disclaimer. . . . . . . There once were two boys called Sam and Dean
Who chased after monsters that were vicious and mean
I tried to obtain them
But Kripkie lay claim to 'em
And left me with nothing but a dream!
A.N. . . . . . . Okay so I promised Cindy123 a one shot of her choice if she would be kind enough to post another chapter of her amazing fic, The Apple Doesn't Fall Far, one was posted, so here's my response. Her wishes were for Sam to be hurt by actions of John, and or Dean; and for guilty angst John and Dean. I don't know whether I achieved what you wanted, but I hope I have? Peanut x
"God damn it Sam! Will you get your ass in gear and get the damn door open?" John's words rang harsh in the otherwise still and silent night. He didn't bother looking his youngest son's way as he carried Dean's heavy weight towards the now opened rear door of the Impala, missing the look of sheer hurt that graced his child's features, and the sheen of sweat that covered his brow and upper lip, his focus solely on his eldest son; his eldest son who was unconscious and bleeding severely in his arms. He pushed Sam angrily away as he bent to place Dean in the back seat, only acknowledging him to bark yet more orders his way. "Make yourself useful and get the damn kit from the trunk, get a blanket too, and then climb in the other side, you'll have to watch him whilst I drive." John, his eyes never leaving his eldest son's face, paused before adding. "Make sure you do something right tonight boy! If your brother feels anymore pain tonight I'll. . . . . . . . . ." He let the words linger in the air, the rest unspoken, knowing that Sam would figure out the meaning.
Sam walked blindly, numbly towards the trunk, his mind confused, guilt riddled and torn, an agonizing pain flaring in his chest, radiating from his side with every step he took, a need for Dean burning deep within him, a need for Dean to take the pain away, to tell him everything would be okay; a need that he knew would not be forthcoming, because Dean was hurt bad, and Sam knew that his brother had been hurt because of his own stupid pettiness and anger. He winced, only just holding back a cry, as he raised the car's heavy trunk tears wetting his eyes, brimming the edges but refusing to fall as he fought to contain his emotions, he couldn't allow his father to see him this way, couldn't afford to anger the man even more, couldn't afford to feel sorry for himself, he was after all to blame, his father had said as much. He pressed a trembling hand to his side as pain erupted with each movement, his breathing turning to gasps as he struggled to overcome it, using techniques his father had instilled in them both. As he gained back control he grabbed the needed items and hurried back.
"It's about god damn time Sam!" John raged as he watched his son return, he ignored the paleness of his pallor, his small hidden gasps of pain and the way he favored his right side, as he ripped the needed items from his hands and turned his attention back towards his eldest boy, quickly patching up the gaping head wound, and the deep gash that rent it's way down his chest. His eyes never wavering from Dean, John barked orders yet again his youngest son's way. "Get in the car Sam!" He waited for the familiar screech of the Impala's old door to signal that it had been opened and then closed before shouting. "Hold these like this! Do not let go Sam! You've done enough damage tonight, make sure you at least get this one thing right!" Placing one last comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, John squeezed it before exiting the car and hastily making his way to the drivers side. Climbing in he gunned the engine, taking off for their latest motel room with a squeal of rubber and flying debris.
After a tiring journey, that in John's eyes was too long, the eldest Winchester finally pulled the big muscle car into the lot of The Sleep Inn motel, the latest flea infested pigsty of a home he had secured for his small family. Parking the car as close to their room as possible he climbed wearily out without glancing back at the two occupants of the back seat. Pulling open the door he bent at the waist to reach in and grab Dean, his mouth opening to rant yet again at his youngest, his anger rising as he spotted the youngster asleep, his body resting away from his brothers, his hands no longer holding the strips of material to Dean's chest. "For god sake Sam, can you not even get this one thing right, you truly are ungrateful, useless. Get in the room!" Not waiting to see if Sam obeyed him, knowing that his son wouldn't dare not too, he gently maneuvered Dean around before placing one of his son's arms around his neck and lifting him, his own arm placed under his knees. He waited whilst he got steady before hurrying for the room.
Placing Dean on the bed furthest from the door, John turned expecting his youngest to be standing shamefaced and guilt looking behind him, the first aid kit clutched in his hands, no doubt his eyes would be begging for forgiveness; forgiveness that John was unwilling to give. His ire rose and ignited when all he saw was the still open door rocking slightly in the night time breeze, no Sam in sight. Rising he aimed for the door, maddened at his youngest sons stupidity, he knew Dean needed help and yet he was dawdling along, no doubt moping too. His fury grew even further as he stopped on the threshold and Sam was still nowhere in sight. Looking over to the Impala, he could see the outline of his son's body still resting against the glass, his breath misting the cold transparent substance. "Sammy!" He bellowed, angered even more when his call was ignored. Rushing over, he yanked open the door, his fury raging before vanishing as his son's unconscious body toppled to the asphalt.
John fell to his knees, what the hell was wrong here? What had he missed? His trembling hands patted softly at Sam's cheeks, whispers of "come on son, wake up, come on Sammy." He moved his hands to ghost lightly over Sam's torso, finding nothing to indicate why his son was lying unresponsive on the cold, wet tarmac. As his hand passed over his son's side though, he received his first indication, his fingers crossing over a sticky wetness, his digits feeling Sam's life blood as it pumped from his body to trail slowly over them before continuing it's path to the ground where it began to pool around his body. "Oh shit! Sammy, I'm so sorry son, don't you leave us, I didn't mean what I said, please son." Picking up, with ease, his super skinny fourteen year old he rushed into the motel room, his need to bring Sam back so that he could apologize, clenching uncomfortably at his guts. He jumped slightly as he placed his youngest son on his side on the other bed, as Dean's groggy voice spoke up from the other side of the room.
"Dad? What happened? Where's Sam?"
"Nothing Dean, you just go back to sleep, get some rest." John replied, he should have known though that Dean wouldn't do as he asked, his eldest son's brotherly instinct kicking in when he failed to hear Sam's voice. As John removed Sam's numerous shirts, desperate to see what had ailed his son, he could hear the soft brush of denim against cotton as Dean heaved his aching body up off the bed. "Dean, stay there! I can't afford you both to be passing out from blood loss."
"Blood loss! What the hell happened? Why's Sam bleeding?"
"I don't know yet!" John ground out, guilt rising to replace the anger he had been feeling, how could he have missed this? But he knew how, he had spent most of the evening since the hunt had turned pear shaped blaming Sam for each and every thing that had gone wrong, and Sam had stubbornly stood there and took every hurt, every jibe he had thrown at him, never once complaining, never once fighting back, never once hinting at the hurt he had been feeling. John felt the bed sink next to him as he finally pulled away the last of the shirts from Sam's body, bile rising in his throat as the vision that befell them once he had done so, Dean gasping as he too saw the ugly gash that ran from Sam's hip to the middle of his ribs, and the broken off claw that protruded sickeningly from Sam's side. Without any further word both men struck into action, bottles and bandages, water and ointments, passing silently without instruction between the two as they worked together to fix Sam up, hoping that their motel room fix up wouldn't do more harm than good.
Morning was just breaking, casting the room with a light pink hue, as John emerged from the steam filled bathroom, his body now cleansed of both his son's blood. As he ran a hard towel across his gradually graying hair, he looked at the two sleeping occupants of the small living space, his eldest sleeping peacefully on his back, his fever riddled younger brother resting against his bandaged chest, Dean's arm wrapped protectively around him. Walking to the coffee pot, John poured himself a cup before going to sit at the worn vinyl covered table and chairs, his foot brushing against something that had been dropped on the floor. Placing his cup on the table he bent down and picked up the crumpled up ball of paper. Unraveling it he smoothed it out on the table top, guilt choking him as tears spilled over his lashes as he read the words written upon it in his youngest son's scrawl. Words that spoke of doubts Sam had about the hunt, researched words that had contradicted what John had thought was out there, words that had turned out to be true.
He remembered now, how Sam had tried to reason with him, how his son had tried to make him see what he had found, to see that this simple hunt was going to be anything but. He remembered how even after he had crumpled the paper into a ball and thrown it onto the dirty carpet, Sam had stood his ground insisting that they spend longer checking things out, that they research more; but John had ignored him, had shouted and raged about Sam being scared and weak, Dean even agreeing with him at one point. Seeing his brother, who more often than not would back him up, agree with his father had hurt Sam deeply, John could remember now seeing the flash of hurt register in Sam's mind before he closed his emotions of and turned into a stoic soldier. How could he have blamed Sam for everything that had gone wrong, when he had protested so strongly? John thought back to the hunt itself, remembering Sam taking on the beast after Dean had fallen, tackling it and placing it perfectly in line for John's kill shot; rather than praise his youngest though, as he would have done Dean, John had allowed his fears for Dean's health overtake him, barking orders and ranting abuse at his youngest, telling Sam how stupid, and thoughtless, and irresponsible he was.
God, how could he have messed up so badly? How could he treat his child so thoughtlessly? Sitting there, wallowing in guilt, he promised to whoever was listening to make it up to his baby, to put right all the wrongs he had thrown Sam's way, and to always listen to his son in future. As the room gradually turned lighter, he sat and waited; waited for the moment when he could begin to make amends.
The End.
A.N. . . . . . . . So, Cindy was this okay for you? Thanks to everyone for reading, later dudes! Peanut x
