Legalities: Supernatural does not belong to me, although I wish it did. I am simply playing in Kripke's sandbox for a bit. All rights and ownership are the property of Kripke and the CW network. I am not making any money from this; it is for my own personal pleasure.
Idea: This little fiction has a storyline, but it is unabashed hurt!Dean with extremely angsty!Sam and worried!John. This is purely a selfish little piece that I decided to share. I wanted to focus on Deans recovery and how one would come back from this type of situation. Especially when Dean would internalize everything...
Also, this is a very dark little piece of fiction, so please read all warnings at the start of the chapters and don't read it if you're not into th
Synopsis: Sequel to Gone Missing, Dean is trying desperately to get past the physical and the mental trauma…but how will he deal when there is a significant hunt that he feels he must be a part of. And how will he hide the increasingly debilitating headaches that are a result of his torture from the prying eyes of his little brothe?
Warnings: This story will contain everything from intense angst, graphic depictions of past torture and dreams, to current pain. If you don't like this type of thing….don't read this story. I would suggest reading 'Gone Missing' first as it will set the scene for this story. It is the second in what will be a 3 story arc, returning Dean to all his glory for the Pilot of the series.
Please Review: I thought I would give the sequel a go. Let me know if you want it continued.
Chapter 1
It's just Beginning
Dean stared quietly out the window of the Impala…his father had turned on the radio but he wasn't really listening to any of the music. The passing fields were making him feel a little dizzy, but he couldn't look at his father or the sleeping form of his little brother in the back seat. So he watched the fields flash by and he tried to ignore the slices of pain echoing through his skull and finding release somewhere in his body. The surgeries had all gone well and he was recovering, if that's what this could be called. To be quite honest, he was scared…and he had to get control of these unfamiliar emotions…and quickly.
Dean's thoughts kept turning to the coming future…his coming future. He drew in a deep breath and felt his ribs twinge with pain as they reminded him for the hundredth time just how closely he'd come to not making it out this time. He hated that he couldn't breathe easy yet, that he seemed to relive the memories at the worst possible moments. At night when he should be sleeping he could feel the knives cutting into his flesh and he would wake up in a cold sweat. Dean had never been afraid of anything…not in his entire life. With the exception of screwing up and losing Sam…or screwing up and getting his father killed while they were on a hunt. But truthfully, that was it. He wasn't afraid of the dark, or things that went bump in the night…but losing his family? Yeah…that scared the bejesus out of him. He glanced back where Sam was currently drooling all over the pillow he was laying on. His right shoulder carefully tucked against his body as he slept.
And Dean felt an almost overwhelming sense of responsibility. Sammy wouldn't have been hurt if he hadn't had to come after Dean's sorry ass…and that thought hurt. That he was the reason for his brother's pain…he was the cause of the injury that was going to require months of rehab. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and thinned his lips in frustration at the situation that those slimy human bastards had put him in. Sam's too long girly brown hair had fallen forward making him look even younger than his fifteen years. And that too plagued Dean…whenever he looked at his little brother…he would see the little kid that used to follow him everywhere. The kid that had thought that he'd hung the moon and would never let anything bad happen to him…and yet there he was with his fucking arm in a sling after being shot.
It didn't help that he'd gotten some pretty crappy news from the doctor right before he'd been released…and unfortunately…it was proving to be pretty accurate. The slight headache that he seemed to have all the time would increase in the evenings and he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because the other shoe always dropped where he was concerned.
Dean wasn't under any illusions, he knew what he was…knew where his place in the family was. He was the guardian…the protector…and any other descriptive word that meant…grunt. And he didn't mind it…he really didn't. He would always put Sam and his father's needs first…their safety would always trump his. But as he looked at the uncomfortable way his father would shift every now and then, because of getting stabbed while saving Dean's life…he felt his guilt digging deeper into an already saturated soul.
"How's the head?" His father asked, causing him to jump a bit as it caught him off guard. Dean looked over and saw the worried expression his father was throwing his way.
"Uh…it's okay." Dean stumbled over the words as he fought to sorta tell his dad a version of the truth…if not the details. He didn't want John knowing how bad the headaches were getting; or that they were there all the time…kinda Omni-present in the back of his head. Didn't matter if he was awake or asleep, he always hurt.
John raised an eyebrow and pulled in a long labored breath as he debated on whether or not to call his son out on the lie. He could see Dean struggling with the pain and not just the physical pain, but the emotional fallout as well. Taking the boys to Bobby's was best for both of them…but he couldn't help but wonder whether or not Dean would bounce back from this. They'd been through a lot and his eldest son was one of the strongest men he knew…but strong men could be broken. He'd seen it when he'd served in the Marines…it just took the right hammer. And watching the broken looks his son kept throwing in Sam's direction…John knew what Dean's hammer was...and that terrified him. What his son would be willing to do for Sam? It was unlimited.
"Really?" John said quietly.
Dean looked over at him and he sighed pitifully...a sound John had never heard from his eldest son before. "Dean…it's, okay to talk to me you know..." John said gently. He wasn't really a caring and sharing kind of father…and Dean really wasn't a 'chick-flick' kinda son...but they needed to talk about this.
Dean reached up and scrubbed his hand down his face and then shook his head in denial. "I'm fine dad. Can we just not talk about this?" His voice was slightly desperate in an attempt to get his father to just leave this alone. He wasn't ready…he couldn't talk about it. Dean wasn't going to burden either his father or his brother with his weaknesses.
"Okay...Dean…okay. Just if you decide you need to talk…I'm here." John said quietly as he turned his eyes back to the black pavement. Bobby had taken his truck and driven it back to his place, so that when they got there John could leave the Impala with Dean and Sam. But he wouldn't be staying for long. John had a lead and he needed to follow that up. He needed to find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch…and he couldn't tell his boys about it. Because he still didn't know what the bastards end game was. And John thought that might be the scariest thing of all. That the demon had come after his family for a reason, one that he still didn't understand. As his blue eyes shifted between the huddled form of his eldest and the stretch out relaxed one of his youngest son…he sighed.
Dean's glassy eye's flickered in his father'a direction, but he didn't say anything. He could see what his father was thinking…and whatever it was that his father was thinking about it was a heavy subject. John had that look on his face. The look that he got whenever he started wondering about decisions that he either had made or was about to make.
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They pulled into Bobby's salvage yard around midnight. Dean had finally managed to fall asleep, his body's exhaustion trumping his rampaging mind. The Impala rolled to a stop and the sudden lack of motion had him jerking against the door. The sudden flash of pain made him groan and he twisted slightly to pull his body into a better position.
"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked as he leaned forward and placed a light hand on Dean's good shoulder...fingers squeezing gently.
Dean nodded without looking back at his brother. He already knew what he'd find there…sympathy and understanding would be plastered on his little brother's expressive face. His blue-green eyes wide and worried as he waited for his brother to reassure him.
"I'm okay, Sammy." Dean managed and swallowed as a bolt of agony pulsed behind his eyes. He reached up and ran his fingers through his short hair and then scrubbed it down his face in frustration. He couldn't quite seem to get rid of the headache…no matter how much medication he took. Although at the moment, he wasn't really taking much of anything. He didn't want it to dull his responses if something had happened while they were driving. Even with his father right there…it was still Dean's responsibility to take care of Sam.
"Sure you are Dean." Sam said flippantly and removed his hand in frustration. When are you going to trust me Dean? He asked himself as he watched Dean slowly climb out of the car. Sam grabbed his bag and followed his brother out of the car and in toward the inviting lights of Bobby's old farm house. He watched as his brother limped across the gravel, the soft shoes he wore doing little to protect his injured feet from the cold and jagged ground. Dean wouldn't even let him carry his duffel bag, their father might have been able to trump his older brother…but John had limped back to quickly shut the gate and reconnect the wards and protections that Bobby had stashed all over the yard.
Dean looked at the steps and inwardly sighed as he grabbed the railing and he pulled himself up the wooden stairs and onto the landing if the old porch. The door was suddenly thrust open and the smiling face of one Bobby Singer was revealed as the soft white light of his kitchen poured out around him. His face broke into a brilliant grin as he looked at the two boys standing in front of him.
"Well don't just stand there letting all the heat out…come in ya idgits." Bobby said. His voice was infused with warm affection as he helped shuffle the boys inside the house.
Dean thanked him quietly and then asked if he could go straight to bed. At the slight nod from Bobby he'd limped through the kitchen and into the living room, looking at the line of stairs that led to the room he and Sam always shared when visiting. He felt more than heard Sam step up behind him and offer silent support as he carefully pulled Dean's bag from his almost limp grasp.
"I can carry this Dean." He said in a quiet voice as his heart ached for the pain this was going to cause his big brother.
Dean thought about it for only a moment and then he pulled in a labored breath and started the trek up the stairs. By the time he reached the top landing he was covered in a film of cold sweat and he was shaking from the exertion. Sam had wisely kept quiet and waited at the bottom of the stairs as he watched his brother struggle. It was hard to table his knee jerk reaction...which was to help. But he knew that Dean would never allow it, the fact that he let Sam take his bag was somewhat amazing in and of itself. His thoughts kept flitting back to Dean's normally bouncy step, his constant need to move and talk…and he felt tears burning in his eyes at the thought that that side of Dean might not return.
These were some of the things that Sam both loved and hated about his brother. But as he watched the broken shell that limped down the hallway toward their room he determined that he would do anything to have that side of his brother back...he missed Dean...the old Dean. Cocky and self assured, Dean.
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John looked over at Bobby over the rim of his glass as he downed the burning golden liquid. He knew that he needed to leave first thing in the morning and he hated himself for it. "I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing here, Bobby." He finally ground out with the help of the the whiskey.
"John, you gotta go and track this thing…and yer boys? They're safe here with me." He said simply as he watched the father struggle with this decision.
"I know that. I wouldn't leave them here if I thought differently." He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. "I just…I'm worried about Dean. He isn't handling this as well as I would have hoped." John looked over at the older hunter and gave him a grim smile. He knew what Bobby was thinking…how was a person supposed to handle torture?
Bobby shrugged. "People heal on a curve, John. He'll be okay, we just gotta get him healed up and back out on some hunts. I'll do that as soon as I get an okay from his doctors." He walked over and poured himself another glass of whiskey and then offered the bottle to John. "How's his head?" He asked as almost an afterthought.
"I'm not really sure…he won't talk to me about his injuries. I think he's getting headaches…but the doctor wouldn't talk to me about them either. I think Dean must have asked him not to. Because he's over the age of eighteen, I can't get that information unless Dean gives it up willingly…and he doesn't seem too inclined to do that." John sagged as exhaustion tripped through his body. "I gotta hit the sack Bobby. I'm heading out at first light." He finished as he gulped the last of the whiskey from his glass.
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No sight…no sound…just nothing…and then pain. Pain that ran through his head like a pick ax trying to split his skull open. His body arched against the bed, which set off a cacophony of groans emanating uncontrolled from his lips. He was trapped inside the confines of his own mind. The feeling of helplessness and confusion making him pray that he wasn't back in the clutches of Kale and the others. Somehow he wasn't exactly sure how…he'd been reinjured…at least he thought that's what must be going on. Because this level of pain...it just couldn't be normal…Dean could feel every injury screaming for attention as he tried to deal with the nausea and the dizziness that swirled through his abused head.
Sam…his father…he needed to find them…needed to know that they were okay. He struggled against the pull of the darkness and fought to open his eyelids…but even as he did there was no light…just sounds…
It took a second for Dean's brain to catch up with his body and for him to latch onto the fact that it was still dark outside…which explained the diminished sight thing. Dean struggled to sit up in bed as the blanket fell and pooled around his hips. The pain in his back rippling through his system. His right hand strayed upward to claw at his head in an attempt to stop the blinding pain that was slicing through it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to pull himself to his feet. Dean knew that he needed to make it to the bathroom that was just down the hall, or else he was going to throw up all over the floor. Dizziness washed through him and he choked back the bile rising in his throat as he lurched to his feet and his torn soles slammed onto the cold wooden floor. Dean bit his lower lip to the point that he tasted the metallic ring of blood. In a desperate attempt not to cry out and wake up his little brother, who he knew was sleeping less than ten feet from him.
But as he struggled to his feet, he felt the room spin and his grasp on reality slip as he crashed bonelessly to the floor. A soft 'Oomph…' the only sound he made.
TBC…
Author's Note: This is just the started chapter to bring anyone that didn't read the first story up to speed. The chapters will move away from this type of backstory and off into the healing and the start of a hunt that neither of the boys see coming. John will be mostly absent for this story as it will focus mainly on Dean and Sam…with some awesome Bobby thrown in too. I will also explain Dean's medical condition, as far as his headaches are concerned. This story is going to be cool, I've got some research ahead of me…but I'm excited to see where it goes.
Please Review: So I know that you guys are interested in seeing this sequel continued. If interest is low, I may just table it. Thanks in advance.
