Title: Final Sacrifice
Chapter Title: For You, My Son
Spoilers: Season 1, episode 2x01
Warnings: Angst, minor character death, language
Author's Note: The last old one-shot I have. Well, the last of the ones I like. :) I hope you guys liked this one, too, and I'd love to see some reviews!
The decision he made in his final hours were critical: save his son and die, or don't save his son and die inside. Losing another member of his family was just something he couldn't deal with. He dedicated his life to his family, keeping them safe, keeping that alive.
And I couldn't even do that! he raged in his mind. Mary's dead.
He closed his eyes tightly. The last images of her, her stomach cut open, pinned to the ceiling, her blonde hair splayed out around her, her mouth open in a silent scream…it's haunted him ever since that fateful day on November 2, 1983. Since then, he's been obsessed with the bastard who took his beloved Mary from him. He knows that he's done his fair share of bad fathering, but the need to kill Yellow Eyes consumed every fiber of his being. It consumed him, drowned him, until there was nothing yet but a hunter driven by vengeance.
But now Dean's dying. He's in a coma, dying, and all he's doing is sitting in this damned hospital bed with a fractured shoulder, staring at the stained white ceiling, with nothing to do but sit and wait until Sam came back with better news.
"Dad?"
John slowly picked his head up and saw Sam standing in the doorway. John fought the urge to wince at the multiple cuts and bruises that littered the young man's face.
"Yeah?" he asked, fidgeting with the string of the sling that was holding his arm to his side.
"Do you need anything? I need to go talk to Bobby about something," he said. He looked down and John knew that he was hiding something, most likely something that had to do with the demon, but he just nodded. He knew Sam wouldn't get close enough to the truth, or the demon, to get hurt any worse than he was.
"Yeah," John said. He picked up a piece of paper, folded in half. It was a lift of items that he would never tell Sam what they were really for. Sam took the paper, unfolding it briefly to look at it, before folding it into fourths and sticking it in the pocket of his jacket. "Just give it to Bobby. Just tell him I need them."
Sam nodded. "Alright." He nodded, smiling slightly, before turning and walking down the hall.
"Sammy!" John called. He needed to know…not knowing was killing him.
He didn't think Sam heard him, but he stuck his head back in a couple seconds later. "Yeah?"
John paused. Showing emotion was something he never did, never. Especially around his sons who were so used to seeing their father strong and carefree…they had no idea of the guilt that ate away at him every single day.
"How's Dean?" he finally murmured. He forced his face to remain neutral, as if he didn't really care. They knew how much he loved them, but he wasn't going to show Sam now, not at a time like this when he couldn't afford distractions.
Sam stepped in for a second, his gaze locked on his fathers. "He's—" He stopped and bit his lip. Sam was just like his mother, always the one to let loose on his affections and his emotions, no matter the cost. "He's not good, Dad." John saw the tears in his eyes right before he turned around quickly and headed down the corridor.
John's eyes closed briefly, trying to mask the pain that was hidden deep within them. As he opened them, he grabbed the remote that sat beside him on the bed that called the nurse.
These fuckers never work anyways, he thought with a roll of his eyes.
Luckily though, he must've gotten one of the non-defective ones because about five minutes later, a nurse came walking in, a fake smile plastered to her too-much-made-up face.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "I was in a car accident with my sons and one's in a coma. I don't know where, but I wanna go see him."
Her eyes widened. "Uh…" She picked up his charts. "I don't think we're allowed to move you anywhere—"
"I don't care!" he snapped. "I wanna see my son now!"
She backed up a step at his tone. "A-alright. I-I'll go get a wheelchair." She turned and hurried from the room.
He sighed and let his head fall back against the rock hard pillows under his head. He let out an angry sigh when it took her more than five minutes to get the chair and get back in the room.
"What's his name?" she asked softly. He felt kind of bad for scaring her, but he needed to see Dean and she wasn't going to stop him.
"Dean Winchester." She nodded, looking up his room, which took another ten minutes. He was fuming by the time he actually got in the chair and down the hall towards Dean. But that feeling soon cleared up when he was stopped next to a man who looked nothing like his boy. Tubes, needles, and machines were beeping away, the signal that he was still alive although just barely.
"I'll push the button when I'm ready to leave," he whispered to the nurse standing behind him. He couldn't see her, but he knew she nodded, felt the chair jerk a little as she locked the wheels and was gone a second later.
That's the quickest thing she's done all day.
His anger soon ebbed as he looked at his son. Dean. Cold, pale, lifeless. Dean's life was fading away minute-by-minute, second-by-second. Was he really as powerless about this as he felt? He knew he wasn't, but as he stared at his son now, that's the way he felt.
This shouldn't have happened in the first place. He shook his head. This should be me, not him.
No words could come up his throat. Nothing. It kept working, striving to get something, anything out, but he just sat there motionless, wordless, staring at a boy that means everything to him.
You're not gonna die, Dean. You're gonna live. I promise, son. You're gonna live.
Biting his lip, he didn't push the button for the nurse. Instead, he unlocked the wheels on the chair, and wheeled himself back to his own room to grieve in silence, on his own.
.x.x.x.x.
"What the hell, Dad?"
John looked up in surprise as Sam came flying into the room, the paper he had given him held tightly in his fists.
"What?" John asked calmly as though he had no idea what Sam was talking about.
"This—this list that you had me take Bobby…it's for summoning demons! Don't try and act stupid, he told me. He told me it summons high-leveled demons, like Yellow Eyes. And you wanted me to believe this was nothing? Why didn't you tell me?"
"You wouldn't have done it!"
"No shit! You're right! We're supposed to be a family! We're supposed to do this together!"
"No, we're a family when every member is here!"
Sam looked hurt. "Mom's never coming back," he whispered. "And we'll find a way to bring Dean back. He's not gonna die. Bringing the demon here won't help him."
John looked away. "I'm gonna kill him, Sam. I don't want him here for your brother. I want him here so I can kill him."
"Now? Of all times? Dean's dying! You don't care about him at all do you? Dean's dying and you're still out on the damn revenge kick?"
"Shut up, Sam! You don't even remember your mother! You didn't see her pinned to that damn ceiling! Who knows how many more families he did that to!" John did, though. "So I'm gonna stop him while I can before he does this to anyone else."
Sam let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "Fine. If you thinking getting yourself killed while Dean's dying is the right thing, fine, whatever. That's your choice. But who's gonna be here to pick up the pieces of your war?"
He threw the bag of supplies on the food cart at the foot of John's bed and stalked off down the hall, probably towards Dean's room.
John waited, making sure he was really gone, before jumping from the bed and grabbing the bag.
He peeked into the hall, making sure no one would see him sneaking out, before running down the hallway until he saw a door that said: Basement Access. Authorized Personnel Only.
His eyes darted around and he quickly pulled the door open and ducked in as a nurse was starting to walk down the hall. He hit the bottom of the stairs and hid around the corner just in case, but it was clear and he walked down the hall to his right. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter. He just wanted to find a secluded place where he could conduct his "business" without the risk of someone seeing him.
Finally he found an open room after a couple more twists and turns that seemed big enough incase a fight broke out and far enough away that the only person he could possible run into would be a janitor.
He took off the stupid sling, although his shoulder protested, and laid the bag of supplies on the ground. He pulled out items one-by-one and set them on the ground accordingly, in the way that would be useful to his purpose.
Finally, it was all set up. He opened the book beside him and started the chant that would bring Yellow Eyes to him.
"Hey!"
John looked up in alarm. He groaned when he saw a janitor.
"Yeah?" he grumbled.
"You're not supposed to be down here! Let's go!"
John sighed and stood up as the janitor turned to lead him out. But John froze. He hadn't heard nor seen anybody come down there…
John reached behind his back and pulled the colt out, pointing at the back of the janitor's head. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
The janitor stopped and turned around. His eyes widened. "Wh-what're you doing? Sir, put that away!"
John rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
The janitor sighed, then smirked, his blue eyes fading into a sick yellow. "Oh, Johnny. You know me better than I thought." John said nothing. "Oh come on, no hug for an old friend?"
"Fuck you."
"Oh, so harsh for a man so pure as you. Oh wait." He walked a step closer and John's finger moved to the trigger. "You can't be that pure. After all, all you're here for is vengeance on your poor little wifey. And you lied to your boys." He clicked his tongue in shame. "That's too bad. They could be here instead of sitting up in a hospital room, one dying, the other one—" He stopped, then laughed coldly. "Well, you already know that part, don't ya? My plans for Sammy?"
John glared at him. "Yeah, I do." He clicked the safety on the gun. "Let them both go or the bullet goes into your brain."
"Oh, dear John. I have no hold over Dean. I caused the accident, but I don't hold his soul in my hands. That belongs to the reaper up there trying to get him now."
John's eyes went wide, but the gun didn't waver. "What reaper?"
"The reaper talking to Dean now. Trying to convince him to leave." He clicked his tongue again. "Poor thing, this really isn't the way he wanted to die, is it? He wanted to go out fighting, not strapped to every machine in the hospital."
"I want a deal."
Yellow Eyes looked at him, the interest in his eyes unmistakable. "Oh? Really now?"
"Yeah. Dean's life for the colt." He waved the gun at the demon. "Those are my terms."
"Just Dean? You don't wanna weasel Sammy out of his predicament, too? Or is Dean the golden boy of your family?"
John glared. "Those are my terms," he repeated.
"Oh, Johnny boy." He walked around the room, circling John, their eyes locked together, the colt locked on the demon. "You think those are fair terms? Dean's life, something I would like very much to see end, for a silly little gun?"
"I know the part the colt plays."
The demon shrugged. "Oh well. You see, I'll agree to bring Dean back. Or rather, I can't do it myself, but I have connections. But my little twist here…" He smirked.
Dread curled into John's stomach. "I'm not giving you Sam."
The demon laughed. "Oh no, of course not, dear boy!" he exclaimed. "No, Sammy's far too precious. I don't want Sammy…at least, not yet. For Dean's life, I want the colt…and you."
John tensed. "Me?"
The demon smirked. "Of course. Dean's life, for you and that precious piece of metal in your hand. Those are my terms, and the only ones that really matter. So take 'em or leave 'em."
John gulped. He figured he wouldn't get out alive, but he couldn't go, not yet. Not when neither of his boys understood what was going to happen, what was going to come. He needed to warn them, give them enough information to save themselves, to save the world.
Dean couldn't die. He'll make sure of it. Neither son could die.
"Alright," he said. "Alright, I'll do it."
Yellow Eyes grin grew so wide John thought his face would split. "Wonderful!"
"But," John started and the demon's face fell. "But I get ten minutes. Ten minutes to see Sam and Dean, say goodbye."
"You're really pushing it."
"That's it. Nothing else," John assured.
The demon sighed. "Alright. Ten minutes. Go say goodbye to your precious little boys. I'll be in your room."
Then he was gone.
John let out a gasp and dropped his throbbing arm, the colt clinking to his side. He gingerly moved and put it back in the small of his back, lifting his shirt over it.
He moved quickly then, needing to get up to see Dean and Sam before the ten minutes was up.
He scaled the stairs quickly just in time to see nurses and doctor's rushing into Dean's room. He ran over to Sam who stood outside the door.
"Son, what happened?" he asked quickly.
Sam had tears running from his eyes. "He woke up. Dean's awake, Dad. He's gonna be fine." He sniffed and went in the room to his brother who was sitting up, alert and confused.
John sighed and waited until the doctor finished checking his vitals and left the room, nodding at John.
John went in, both the boys looking at him. Dean went to move and Sam pushed him back down.
"Dad!" Dean exclaimed. John smiled warmly at his oldest son.
"Hi, son," he said. "Glad to see you awake."
"Yeah."
"Feeling better?"
Dean shrugged. "I feel fine. Are you okay? Sam?" He looked between them.
"We're fine," Sam said, though his eyes went to his father questioningly. "Did you throw that stuff out?"
Dean's brows furrowed and John groaned. "What stuff?" Dean asked.
"Leave it alone, Sam. It's taken care of."
"What does that mean, 'taken care of'? What'd you do?"
"I said, leave it alone, Sam."
Sam looked ready to say something else when Dean cut in. "Enough! God, I just fucking woke up! I don't wanna play referee right now!"
John sighed, closing his eyes for a second, before opening and nodding at Dean, smiling. "You're right, son. I'm sorry." He looked over at Sam.
"Me, too," Sam said after a moment of hesitation.
John's eyes flickered to the clock and jolt went through his heart when he realized he had about two minutes left. Oh, God, this isn't enough time…
"Sam," John said suddenly. His time was running out and he had to say goodbye. Sam looked up.
"Yeah?"
John waved him over. He put a hand on his shoulder, smiling, but shaking his head. He knew Sam didn't know it was a goodbye, but he couldn't just blurt out that he was going to die in two minutes. "I could use come caffeine. Get me some coffee while I talk to your brother?"
Sam hesitated. "Yeah," he said softly. "Sure." He glanced at Dean, who shrugged softly, before giving a small smile to John before exiting the room. John bit his lip and turned to his oldest.
"Dad," Dean said, reading the look on John's face. "What's going on?"
John smiled. "Nothing." He shook his head and leaned down to whisper in Dean's ear. "Sammy. Dean, you have to save Sammy. Protect him. If you don't…you'll have to kill him."He leaned back up and look of pure fear on Dean's face made John's heart ache.
But John just smiled, his eyes watery. It's the last time he'd ever look at his son again and he didn't want to miss a second of it. He nodded slightly, starting to back up.
"Dad…" Dean's voice was a small, hurt whisper. John shook his head again as he backed out the door.
He pulled himself together outside his room. He took the colt from the small of his back, took a deep breath, and walked into the room.
He was standing next to the window, a shit-eating grin on his face. John walked forward, trying to keep his heart and breathing steady.
He set the colt on the cart.
"Alright," he said. His voice was strong even through the fear that pumped through his body. "I'm ready."
His light cut out and he was dead before he hit the floor.