I'm writing more Supernatural stuff because if the writers' strike continues, we need something to read about our boys. I am a big fan of flinchflower's ongoing stories on LiveJournal, so I decided to start my own series about the boys and their dad. The story will progress ve-e-e-ry slowly. I want a story where I can write 1000-1500 words for a chapter rather than 3000-4000 like my other stories. But that way I can update this more often.
So I'll start with important information such as time placement and characters. This story starts two months after the beginning of "My Time of Dying," the first episode of season two. In this story, AU I guess, John does not die, but they do lose the Colt at the hospital.
This story is not slash or wincest.
Disclaimer: I do not any these characters or their world; I just play with them in their world.
Warning: There will be corporal punishment in this story, but it will be used sporadically and is not in the first few chapters. If you did not like this, it would be a good idea to stop reading now before you get into the story and then have to stop later.
Hope you enjoy yet another tale of mine.
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The thought of hospitals always creeped Dean out. He blamed it on the scare they had had two months ago when he had nearly died in the hospital. Dean remembered the eerie feeling of wandering through the hospital, all alone, with no one talking to him or seeing him. And the hospital a year ago after nearly dying from electrocution. He was done with hospitals, thank you very much, so the idea of going to another did not make him feel comfortable at all.
"So we'll spread out," John announced as he looked over a computer-printed layout of the hospital. The papers were spread out over the table and arranged to show each floor of the hospital.
The house they were squatting in was old, three miles down a dirt road on a country highway. Really, the middle of nowhere, fifteen miles from the hospital that John felt certain was haunted. Dean believed him, but would rather have stayed far away from the hospital. The house was actually a haunted one; after clearing out two disgruntled spirits, John decided to use it as a base for a few weeks. Dean didn't really mind – the two ghosts had been an old couple that were in the middle of a fight when they died. Unable to read the label, the wife had accidentally put poison instead milk in the food. Rather than pass into the afterlife quietly, the couple, now ghosts, had stood up and kept arguing with each other.
Even when John stormed the house, the ghosts were more interested in yelling at each other rather than haunting him. Sam had been in favor of sitting the ghosts down and talking it out – John had set fire to the corpses and exorcised both of them. He sprinkled holy water and reached for the lighter, the old woman ghost had turned to John and demanded, "Do you mind? We're having an argument."
"You've been arguing for twenty years," John told them. "Time to give it a rest."
Once the bones burned, the house fell silent, and the Winchesters moved in. And John immediately found another haunting in a nearby hospital.
"I'll take the surgery and ICU along with the rooms on the second floor," John decided tapping on one piece of paper. "Dean, you get the emergency room and third floor. Sam, the kids' ward and out patient care."
"But Dad," Sam hovered over the layout, "aren't we sure the demon is somewhere near the emergency room? Two out of the four incidents where the doctors went crazy happened in the emergency room."
"Yes, but the other two happened on the second floor and the ICU with patients. We need to search the entire place."
"Let me and Dean go," Sam urged. "We have the lab coats in the car – we can pretend to be medical students again."
"Sam –" John sighed.
"Or visiting doctors. No one will give us a second look. And that way you can focus on other stuff, like cleaning up the weapons and researching our next hunt."
"In other words, sit this one out?" John fixed Sam with a pointed look.
"Dad, you nearly died!" Sam protested. "If we hadn't gotten to you before the Demon –"
"That's enough," John announced. "I didn't die, I'm fine, and we're hunting this thing together."
Sam looked at Dean, hoping for back up. Dean shrugged and grabbed his soda can to keep drinking. Sam swallowed what he really, really to say to the both of them and stalked off to the bathroom to shower.
"What's wrong with your brother?" John asked without looking up from the papers.
"He's a girl," Dean quipped.
John looked up with a frown.
"He's just worried about you," Dean amended.
"I'm fine," John insisted. "I got you back, you got me before the Demon could, and we're all good though we did lose the Colt."
Dean shot the man a quick glance to see if that comment was supposed to be a critique of him and Sam, but John was already staring back at the map.
"And I don't appreciate your brother's attitude," John continued.
Dean wanted to sigh. Whenever Dad got mad at Sam, Sam went from being Sam or Sammy to "his brother." Dad would tell him to tell his brother to get it together or shape up or cut the attitude.
"He act like this a lot on the road?" John asked.
"Dad, don't do this," Dean said softly.
"Excuse me?"
"Don't start in on Sam right before a hunt," Dean said. "I know you guys don't agree on everything, but Sam works really hard. And he never asked for this."
"And I did?" coldness showed in John's eyes, but Dean saw the hurt on the man's face, the pain that had traveled with him on back roads and cheap motels for twenty-two years now.
"No, but you took the call a little better than he did," Dean smiled sadly. "You had training, Dad, with all the Marines stuff."
"I trained you two," John pointed out.
Dean knew he would not win the argument. Dad's sense of righteous, his honor and drive for justice, it made him a great soldier. Sometimes a pain for a father, but a great soldier and a ruthless leader who got the job done at any cost.
"I'll talk to him," Dean promised. "He's just tired."
John's head shot up again.
"Yeah, yeah, we're all tired," Dean anticipated John's next objection. "Seems like I can't remember a time when we weren't sleep-deprived. But I'll set him straight."
"Good boy," John nodded, returning to the map.
Dean smiled, this time with pride at his father's words. That was as close as Dad would get to saying "I'm proud of you" or "I love you," but it was enough from Dean. He understood his father's language better than Sam because Dean would like to think he spoke pretty much the same language.
By the time Dean went up to the bedroom he shared with Sam, Sam had finished his shower and came out in his usual night wear: a tee shirt and thin sweat pants.
Sprawled on one of the twin beds and eating beef jerky, Dean glanced up at him. "Why are you dressed like that? It's only eight o'clock."
"You know the man," Sam rolled his eyes. "He'll want us to get to bed so we can have an early start."
"We are tired," Dean said evasively, looking away from Sam.
"You might be tired," Sam snapped. "I'm not."
He flopped down on the other bed, crossing his arms and stretching his long legs out past the edge of the bed.
"You're a freak," Dean teased. "I told Dad to stop feeding you when you hit six feet, but he thought you had grown all you would. Such a sad mistake, and now I live with Big Foot."
"Shut up," Sam growled.
"Seriously, dude," Dean sat up on his bed, "what's with the attitude?"
"It's a hospital. A hospital!" Sam threw out his arms. "You know what happens to us in hospitals?"
"Yeah, nothing good," Dean nodded. "But this time we're not there because we're hurt – we're going in, voluntarily."
"That's right – involuntarily!"
"No, I mean we're going of our own free will," Dean rolled his eyes.
"We're still going in."
"We can't just walk away from a case," Dean insisted. "We're here to do a job. You and me and Dad, too."
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean shook his head.
"No, Dad's here with us. And you know how the game goes – when Dad's here, he's in charge."
"And when he's not, you are?" Sam challenged.
"Yeah," Dean grinned, liking the idea.
"So I'm never in charge?" Sam crossed his arms. "I'm the youngest so I have to do whatever you tell you me for the rest of my life?"
"It might not be that long if you don't shut up," Dean told him. "And who cares who's in charge as long as we're doing our job and hunting?"
"Easy to say when you're not lowest man on the totem pole!"
"Stop sulking," Dean ordered. "Dad told me to straighten you out. We need to focus on the case, and we can't do that if you're all hell-bent on griping at Dad."
"What does it matter?" Sam retorted. "You're enough of a suck-up for both of us."
"Hey," John stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a rock fortress of strength and might, "why don't you boys go on to bed?"
Sam gave Dean a wide-eyed look that said "See? What did I tell you?"
"Sure, Dad," Dean began but Sam cut through.
"We're not tired."
John gave Dean a look that said "I thought I told you to straighten him out," and Dean wanted to growl in frustration.
"Go to bed, Sam," John ordered.
"It's eight o'clock," Sam yelled. "And you can't tell me what do anymore."
"What?" John looked dangerous and foreboding.
"Yeah, we're not kids anymore," Sam rolled off the bed and stood to face their dad. "I'm twenty-three – that's old enough to decide whether or not I want to go to bed or hunt or put up with any of your crap."
Before Dean could blink, John had crossed the room and grabbed Sam by the shoulder, gripping at a place between the young man's neck and shoulder bone, a sensitive joining of nerves, that made Sam wince in pain. Sam leaned towards his dad's hand, trying to relieve the pinch and pull away, but John was having none of it.
"Stop it right now," John ordered. "We agreed in the hospital would you stop arguing."
"Yeah, 'cause I thought things would be different," Sam protested, still leaning. "I thought we would be a team, not a drill sergeant and his recruits."
"Oh, please," John scoffed, "you wouldn't know what a drill sergeant was. I put up with all your excuses and your backtalk and your brother's trolling for girls –"
"Hey!" Dean objected, but one look from John silenced any further protests.
"But I need you to work with me on hunts," John continued as if Dean had not spoken.
"You mean work for you," Sam muttered. "Ow, ow, okay I get it."
John gave him one more firm squeeze before letting go. "Sammy, get to bed. Dean, you go clean up the kitchen and we'll talk about tomorrow."
"All right, Dad," Sam said, subdued. "I'll listen to your plans and I won't say anything else."
"No, you've done quite enough," John shook his head. "You want to give me attitude? – you go to bed then. Good night."
John strode out of the room, leaving Sam to gape at his brother.
"Did he just send me to bed?" Sam asked incredulously.
Dean considered it, gave a half-sorry grin, and then turned and left the room as fast as he could.
Alone and frustrated, Sam thought about kicking one of the bed legs, but seeing as he was barefoot, he settled for stomping back to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
It was going to be a very long hunt.