Synopsis: When Dean makes one seemingly innocent mistake and is permanently injured on a hunt, how will his hunter father and studious little brother handle the changes? Can Dean learn to hunt with a disability? Will his father ever fully really accept this new side of his eldest son? What happens when the boys are thrown into an extremely dangerous situation…can they cope in John's absence and with the new limitations placed on Dean. This story will contain flashbacks that will enlighten the readers of Dean and Sam's past as it pertains to everything about the recovery from this one mistake.
Legalities: I don't own any characters associated with Supernatural…they belong exclusively to Kripke and the CW network…I only play in their sandbox for my own amusement and yours. I am not making any money from this, it is a guilty pleasure.
This story is both canon and AU based on Dean's disability. I'm on an injured Dean kick right now…so bear with me. This is NOT a SLASH story; it contains brotherly love, angst, and hurt/comfort only.
Chapter One
Hazards of playing with Ghosts
-September 1996-
Dean Winchester grabbed the Molotov cocktail, the glass cool in his fingers and ran full speed toward the open grave. His booted feet were thundering over the soggy rain soaked ground and suddenly slipping as he hit a large patch of mud. His breath was coming in sharp almost painful pants as he tried to keep his calm. The air in front of him puffs of white mist. He'd just watched a seriously pissed off spirit toss his little brother into an open grave and Sam's head hadn't popped up yet. Their father was still at least twenty minutes out and he was scared.
Sam had been trying to distract the spirit while Dean finished salting the body of a very angry hippy. They had been trying to take care of it on their own, hunting the supernatural was kind of 'the family business.' Their father, John Winchester, didn't usually allow the boys to hunt on their own…being that Dean was seventeen and Sam was only thirteen. But with a lot of talking, which he was extremely good at; Dean had convinced their father that they could handle one 'hippy-dippy' ghost on their own. At least that was what he thought he'd said to the eldest Winchester to get an approval for this lone hunt. Now as he watched the hunt unravel, he wasn't quite so convinced that they were ready for this. Particularly if Sam got hurt as a result of his inability to protect his little brother, which would be a sure sign that they weren't ready.
John had wanted Sam to take a more active role in the hunting aspect of their education…something besides the training and the endless drill work that both boys were required to complete on a daily basis. His little brother had whined about the training because it always managed to disrupt his study time…but Sam did like spending time with his older brother, so he had agreed to go on this hunt.
Dean swore as he watched Sam's head suddenly pop up out of the grave, dirt and mud pouring down his teenage face. There was a distinctly bright trail of blood making its way down from a cut somewhere inside the mop Sam called his hair. The brown strands were currently plastered to the Sam's face and he was scowling at Dean as his older brother slid to a halt and reached out to help the boy out of the grave.
"Have I told you lately how much I hate this Dean?" He asked angrily. He accepted the leather clad arm reaching down to help him his dimples absent as he seethed. Sam's eyes were scanning the area behind his brother's back for the reappearance of that damn spirit. He'd figured that it might be a bad idea to go out without their father…but he hadn't imagined that they'd get their asses kicked by the damn ghost.
Dean chuckled. Shaking the water out of his short blonde hair and releasing Sam once he was above ground again. "Yeah…you have. But it's fun, right Sammy?" He said with a laugh as he patted Sam on the back.
"Quit it Dean!" he said through clenched teeth. Normal kids didn't do stuff like this…they don't spend their Friday nights in a cemetery looking for a pissed off hippy ghost that wanted to kill them. Ironically, to stop a war that no longer existed…and weren't hippy's supposed to be like…anti-war and shit? He wonder silently as he shook the mud out his hair and pushed it out of his eyes.
Dean laughed and then held up the soon-to-be flaming bottle of alcohol…he grabbed his lighter and relit the cloth fuse. "Step back Sammy…I don't think this thing is gonna like going up in flames." Dean stepped forward and looked into the grave; the body of the ghost was severely decomposed and like all bodies…it smelled terrible. His gaze landed on some canisters off in the corner of the coffin, but he ignored them and tossed the flaming bottle in. "You're barbeque…you no talent bastard." He said.
The violent reaction of whatever had been in the grave and the flaming cocktail caused an explosion that rocked Sam backwards off his feet and onto his butt. It took a moment for him to shake his head clear after the concussive blast that followed the flaming explosion. He knew he'd been at least fifteen feet further back than his brother…Sam scrambled to his feet. His eyes swinging frantically until he finally noticed Dean's body lying sprawled in a half-hazard humble of limbs next to the grave…unmoving. Dean's face was turned toward the grave. Which meant that Sam couldn't tell just how badly his older brother was injured and that had his heart trip hammering through his chest in fear.
"DEAN!" He cried as he stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, the mud making a squelching sound as his weight settled next to his brother's too-still body. Dean was laying on his stomach his arms thrown out in front of him…almost like he'd been trying to avoid something. Sam's hand shook as he reached down and gently pulled Dean onto his back. A cry of dismay escaped his lips as he got his first good look at his big brother. "Ah…god…no."
The entire front half of Dean's body was covered in blistered and blackened burns, his clothing singed and sticking painfully to the edges. And there were more wounds littering his chest and pushing down toward his thighs…it had to be where the explosion had hit him in the chest. Sam's brain told him quickly. But it was the gash on his brother's head that caught Sam's attention. The area around Dean's eyes was burned, like something had splashed up into them…there were already red welts forming and his brother's breathing was thready at best. The wheezing sounds making Sam's stomach turn with bile.
And there was a steady stream of crimson blood leaking from both of his brother's ears. Huge tears burned in Sam's eyes as he stared at the unconscious form of his big brother. The same brother who was normally larger than life and had a way of making Sam feel safe…in this world of monsters, ghosts and demons.
Sam felt his fear climb up out of the pit in his stomach and assault him with the force of molten lava. "Oh God Dean…wake up…please wake up." Sam whispered as tears mixed with the rain and he gently shook his brother's shoulder; his hands shaking as much from the cold as from terror.
"Sammy!? Dean?!" He heard his father's deep voice calling through the bleak darkness of the night like a savior. And he'd never been so happy to hear that gruff drill-sergeant-like voice in his entire life. His eyes lifting from his brother's mangled form to search for his father's form.
"DAD!" Sam cried, his voice breaking with the stress of the situation. He turned slightly looking into the dark area off toward the two lane gravel road, where they'd left the Impala parked. "DAD! Hurry! Dean's hurt."
John Winchester ran through the night like a man possessed. He'd known that letting his boys do this hunt on their own had been a bad idea. But he'd gone against his better judgment when Dean had presented a well thought out argument and the research all seemed to be legitimate; but the hysteria in his youngest son's voice was sending tendrils of fear twisting through his gut. He finally spotted the boys near an open grave that was still burning slightly, illuminating the terrifying image of Sam leaning over the unmoving form of his big brother.
John slipped to his knees and gulped back the rising panic at the first sight of Dean's ruined face. Whatever had happened, it'd been bad…like really bad. The blisters were forming near the corners of his son's eyes and there were burns seared through the layers of shirts he knew his son always wore. But it was the blood dripping steady from both of Dean's ears that really concerned John. He knew that this wasn't something that would just heal on its own…they were headed to a hospital.
"What happened here, Sammy?" He asked as he leaned over to get a closer look at his eldest boy's injuries. John ran his fingers through his son's short blonde hair as he closed his eyes in panic. And then he felt just how thready Dean's pulse really was as his fingers dropped to his son's neck. They were going to have to get the kid to a hospital right the hell now. He reached for his phone and dialed 911, normally he wouldn't call for emergency responders, but this didn't look like something that could wait. Blood in the ears was a really bad sign. John had learned that fun little fact while serving in the Marines…a shudder ran through his body…and he'd never forgotten that lesson.
Sam shook his head, his hair flipping around and catching on his nose. They were going to have to get the boy to cut that mop pretty soon. John thought as he listened and his youngest tried to piece together what had actually happened to his brother. The words were jumbled and John could barely understand the kid as he tried to gulp around the sobs that were slowly erupting from his chest. He reached out and pulled his son against his broad chest, wrapping his arms around the trembling form of his youngest boy.
"It's okay Sammy…he's going to be okay." John wasn't sure if he was trying to convince his son or himself. Sam hugged him back like his life depended on it and John reveled in the feeling of his son in his arms. He always forgot how much he missed his boys when he was gone. He reached out and gently carded his fingers through Dean's wet hair.
Father and son parted when they heard Dean grunt and then a groan of anguish as he came back to full-awareness in one agonizing instant. "Argh…." He cried as he struggled to pull himself up off the ground, his body reacting on instinct rather than knowledge. John reached out and pushed him back into a lying position, carefully avoiding the burns on his chest.
"Dean…son….calm down." Dean didn't show any sign that he'd heard his father. His eyes widened in shock and pain as he struggled to focus through the damage to his eyes. He stared at both of the members of his family. Dean couldn't hear a damn thing…there was absolutely nothing…no sounds at all. He struggled against the hand trying to hold him against the cold wet ground. His blurry vision not giving him much to go on. A small form moved next to the large lump and he focused enough to know it was his father and his brother. He wanted to scream in agony when the realization hit…he was completely deaf.
"Dad…I can't hear…" He finally managed to choke out in a broken voice as he suddenly went limp and passed out again. John stared at his son in dismay…had Dean really just said that?
"Dad, did Dean just say he can't hear?" Sam asked in a whisper, he hiccupped and stared up, wide eyed, at his father. His luminous blue-green eyes begging for a reassurance that they both hadn't just heard that confession; sirens wailed in the back ground and John jerked his eyes toward the road. He needed to move Dean away from the open grave…too many questions. He slowly gathered his eldest son in his arms and pulled himself to his feet.
"Sam, grab the gear son." He said as he moved several hundred yards from the burn site. He gently laid his son on the ground, just as the medics rushed up the slippery terrain.
XXXX
-November 2006-
Dean wondered if he could make the light…he debated for just an instant on pressing the gas pedal harder and pushing the Impala through the changing traffic signal. He really hated traffic and traffic in California was the worst. He sighed and opted for caution allowing the classic black car to come to a stop as other vehicles blurred by in front of him. For the millionth time he wished he could hear them…the sounds of the strong engines as they whisked by him. He stared at the hearing aids in the seat next to him and frowned. The doctor had said that he should be able to distinguish slight changes in pitch and frequency with them. But the only real difference was that when he had them in…he actually felt handicapped. The accident at the cemetery flashed through his head…it did that almost every day…flashed through his head and reminded him of his mistake.
The light finally changed and Dean felt the car roll forward as the feeling of the Impala's massive engine rumbled through his legs. He hated that he couldn't hear her engine anymore…and that he hadn't in more than ten years. Hell, he hadn't heard pretty much anything in ten years. No music…no Impala…no voices…nothing. His father had done his best to help Dean compensate for the lack of hearing. Taught him to rely on his other senses and encouraged him to be in even better physical shape, so that he was faster and more agile than the monsters they hunted. But it was Sammy that had tried to actually help Dean through the transition. His little brother had taken the time to learn sign language and then he'd all but forced Dean to sit down and learn it too. Because, as Sam had explained, 'he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life not being able to communicate with his big brother'.
That had been hitting below the belt as far as Dean was concerned. Sam had played the 'little brother' card and Dean had capitulated and learned the new language along with his brother. He'd finally dropped out of normal school his senior year. By then he'd been so sick and tired of being treated as special by the faculty members and the curious looks of the other students, that he couldn't take it anymore. Dean had gotten far quieter over the years, he spoke out loud only when it was absolutely necessary and during investigations on hunts. He'd also lost weight as he forced himself to train harder and harder to try and keep an edge over the monsters.
Three weeks ago he'd woken up in a motel room…one that he'd been sharing with his father for the past week…alone. There was no note, nothing to indicate where John had gone. He'd simply left Dean. The keys to the Impala and a stash of cash and fake credit cards had been left on the small kitchen table. Dean had tried everything he could think of to find the man and still he had bupkis to go on. John hadn't been the easiest person to live with since Dean's accident. He'd done his best to keep his frustrations at bay, but the one problem with teaching a person to use their other senses? They got really good at reading people…really good at seeing what it was that the other person was trying to hide.
That was what had brought him to California…the need to search for his father and the fact that he needed Sam's help to do that. He hadn't talked to Sam in over two years, not since they'd argued about Dean's own future. Sam had wanted Dean to come with him to California, to Stanford. But Dean hadn't been able to walk away from their father the way Sam had. It was the worst argument that the brother's had ever had…and it had resulted in complete and utter silence for over two years. Dean nearly snorted at that thought…because honestly…he'd been dealing with complete and utter silence for the past 10 years…just never from Sammy.
There was no way that Dean would ever be telling Sam that there was no place for him in a college town. He wasn't smart enough to go to the same schools as Sammy, and he would only hold back his brilliant little brother from the life he so desperately wanted. So they'd argued and Dean had shut down his 'big brother' mode to hurtle the words that would wound his overly sensitive baby brother. Sam it seemed…had done the same. The things that he'd said to Dean had been meant to wound…and they had…deeply.
Dean sighed and looked at the map next to his hip, his eyes flickering until he saw the name of the road that his little brother's apartment was located on. Just because we don't talk, doesn't mean that I don't know where you've been, Sam.
The sun was setting and it was probably close to seventy degrees outside, no wind, just the perfect ending to a less than perfect day. Dean had gotten used to looking for movement, rather than listening for sound. His eyes were sharp and practiced at reading lips…the only time he ran into problems with that was when the speaker was upset and then spoke too quickly, or they covered their mouths with something.
His stomach rumbled at him and he ignored the angry gnaw of hunger that pinched in his gut. He didn't have time to stop and eat right now. Something bad could have happened to his father…every minute counted. They needed to find the man and they needed to find him now.
TBC…
Author's Note: This is going to incorporate both canon and original storylines as the story progresses. There will be unabashed hurt Winchester throughout and the resulting angst from that. Both Sam and Dean's start to this story is different so expect changes. I'm not planning on following the series, just incorporating some of the known facts. This is its little fiction and is not related to anything else that I have written. I hope that you like it.
Please Review: If you are wanting me to continue this fiction. Otherwise, I may shelve it.
