Title: Doing Time
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Sam, Dean and John
Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame? Growly!John, Hurt!Dean, Capable!Sam
XX
Sam isn't shocked that Dad makes it to the abandoned shack in 10 instead of 15. And while he doesn't hear the Impala skid onto the crush and run that marks the makeshift driveway in front of this cabin, he can hear the gravel shower up on to the front of the cabin door. Sam is kind of glad that Dean has dropped off, because he would be pissed as hell at Dad for possibly dinging his girl up like road rash.
Dad shoulders through the door like a tornado, face dark and intense. But he is not yelling which is a good thing. It is like he is all forward momentum trying desperately to be still. That in itself is a miracle….John Winchester does not have that self monitoring part of the brain that tells him he is stepping over the line. Or maybe he has it, but chooses to ignore it. Whatever the reason, Sam is glad that dad finds the discipline to calm himself briefly before he reaches Dean.
He drops quietly to Dean's side, mirror's Sam's triage earlier. Carotid, checks his breathing and bleeding. Lightly palpates down his ribs. Gently reaches behind his head to feel for the lump. He nods to himself or maybe to Sam.
"Good job, Sam."
Sam looks stunned at the compliment. The old man doesn't offer accolades very often. Sam feels the heat of a blush up his neck and cheeks. He is thankful there is little or no light in this cabin. He drops his chin, embarrassed by three simple words.
"Dean." Dad's voice is low and not particularly harsh but the one word pulls Dean out of sleep.
"Sir?" Dean sounds confused but opens his eyes, and Sam watches as he meets his fathers gaze. It is a little unfocused. But it looks like he is trying.
"How'd the hell did this happen, son?" Again, Dad is not being mean but he wants answers. Dad pulls the jacket back to reveal the puncture wound that Sam has field dressed.
Dean sounds tired. "Dunno, Dad. Didn't realize it. Not at first anyway.
For the first time, Dad lets a little edge creep into his voice. "You have a fuckin' hole in your shoulder, Dean. How the hell do you not notice a fuckin' hole in your shoulder?"
Dean seems to wince a Dad's words. And right there, Sam starts to get mad. Yeah, Dean fucked it up, but he is hurt and why can't the old man just fix him up and tear him a new one when Dean can at least sit up.
"C'mon, Dad. Save the Spanish Inquisition till he's feeling better." Sam grates it out, laces it with disrespect and insolence.
Dad turns his head so sharp Sam swears he hears something break. "What did you say to me?"
Sam pulls him self up to his full five foot nothing height. Lifts his chin. "I said to leave him alone, Dad. He's out of it. Any answers you are gonna get will be fucked up anyway."
Sam can see the anger roll off his father, it flashes through Sam's mind kind of irrationally that if he could see auras his father's would be black. Black and boiling and heading straight toward Sam. Sam takes an unconscious step back. It kind of pisses him off that his father hasn't made a move in his general direction and still Sam can't hold his ground.
There is a good ten second break, where Sam can actually see his father pulling back, maybe counting to ten or twenty or something. Oh, he is still plenty pissed but he is reining it in, kind of like a pit bull that has come to the edge of his chain and realizes there is nothing to do but wait it out.
"I am not doing this now, Sam. WE are not doing this now. Get out in the Impala and bring in the kit. Make sure you leave that attitude out there before you step back in here again. Got it?"
Sam pivots almost in an about face and starts toward the door. "Sam. I mean it. Do you understand?"
Dad's voice is quiet but he expects an answer.
Sam is facing the other way, hand almost on the door. "Yes, sir. Got it." He rips open the door as hard as he can, slams it solidly behind him. The walk to the Impala is only a step or two, but Sam feels the tears well up. The man makes him so fuckin' mad. Mad enough to hit something or somebody. And to top it all off, Sam doesn't even have the balls to tell the old man to go fuck himself. Yes, sir. No, sir. Aye, aye, sir.
Well fuck. It. All.
But he will not give Dad the satisfaction of seeing him cry so he shakes his head hard and wills the tears to stop. No way is he gonna cry like some baby. Just because his Daddy makes him mad. Winchesters don't cry. Not at all. And that is a Dean rule, not a Dad rule. No chick flick moments, Sam. Shut the fuck up.
He opens the trunk, locates the med kid and briefly thinks his father was a moron for not bringing it in when he came in the cabin anyway. That makes him feel a little better for some reason. Yeah, it feels good to know that John Winchester stupidly left his kit in the car while his son is bleeding in the cabin. Of course, that isn't fair either, because Sam knows dad just wanted to get into to Dean. To check him out himself.
Whatever.
He takes a deep breath. Takes another. Because Dad meant it when he said leave the attitude outside. And Sam doesn't know if he can do that, but Dean sure as hell doesn't need a knock down drag out fight tonight so for Dean he will do it. And honestly, Sam has spent most of his teenage years covering up shit, so what does one more lie make in a lifetime of lies.
He opens the door and walks back into to the cabin.
Sam stops next to his father, does his best to make his face as expressionless as possible and hands him the kit.
Dad takes it without even acknowledging Sam. "Gimme some help here, Sam. Let's get his jacket off and take a look." Dad doesn't look at Sam, doesn't offer any kind of encouraging remarks to Dean. He just expects Sam to do what he says and expects Dean to deal. And both Sam and Dean do. He slides in behind his brother and helps support his back while he and his father gently remove Dean's jacket. Dean moans a little when his shoulder is jostled but otherwise remains pretty stoic about the whole thing.
Dad grimly looks at the field dressing, lifts the corner to evaluate the puncture wound. Since Dean seems to have no idea what it is or how it happened, John splashes holy water into the wound, looks satisfied when there is no burning or bubbling. The only real response is Dean's slightly arched brow, "It didn't slash me or anything, Dad." Dean sounds a little sullen and a little embarrassed at the same time.
"Well, son, if you can come up with some kind of scenario as to what the fuck might have happened, I would sure as hell love to hear it."
Dean drops his eyes, and it looks to Sam like he is trying to hard not to hear the not so subtle order in his father's voice.
John pulls the dressing off completely, starts to unbutton Dean's flannel shirt. Dean tries to bat his father's hand away, but John is persistent. "Ya only got one arm that works, Dean. If you aren't goin' to offer any information as to how the hell this happened, then you damn well better stop fightin' me while I'm trying to figure it out."
Dean stills. Allows his father to unbutton and remove his shirt. Sam helps, carefully pulling it off and drops it on the musty bed. Shirtless, the shoulder hole looks worse, still sluggishly seeping blood, angry and deep, a good size hole that looks painful as shit. Dad has already checked for an exit wound, just like Sam did. Nothing. Dad pulls the saline and flushes the wound with copious amounts of it. The salt water pours back out on to the bed, leaving a trail of pink and red that stream down Dean's chest. Dad washes his hands with antiseptic then moves to gently exploring the wound.
Dean hisses with pain. Takes a deep gasping breath when Dad prods a little hard. "Fuck, Dad. Why don't you use a hot poker?"
Dad pulls his hand out of Dean's shoulder. "Okay, son. That's it. Spill now or you and I are gonna dance, bad wing or no. I can't fix what I don't know is wrong. And I could have sworn when I told you to head on back to the Impala, you were hole-less. Back to the Impala, remember that? And instead you walk your sorry, concussed holey self in the fucking opposite direction to find Sam. Maybe we need to review chain of command. Maybe we need a sit down on why the hell you do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it."
Dad is still pretty quiet, but he is using the voice that means he has had it. And John Winchester has the patience and irritability of a hungry bear with a thorn in his paw. Even Sam pays attention to that voice. It is often the precursor to something that ends in Sam running laps or his shoulders aching with pushups. Once in while a good old fashioned what for. So yeah, Sam is listening. He figures Dean is too because he tilts his head in his father's direction, meets his eyes directly. But he holds his gaze for just a moment, then drops his chin, eyes studying the pink and red streams that are drying on his chest.
Dean isn't a coward. Sam knows that like the smell of gun oil. Dean will stick up for himself, sometimes, but more often than not he will stick up for Sam. Sam has seen Dean go after shit that would make other men quake. And while Dean may be a bit wary of John, he isn't afraid of his father so Sam doesn't quite get the look. The inability to hold John's gaze. What could have Dean so worried that he won't answer a direct question? Especially when it is phrased as an order. An order with the threat of physical discomfort if it is not heeded. Sam kind of smiles a bit, Dad would no more kick Dean's ass while he is laying in a bed with a hole in his shoulder than he would take up belly dancing as a hobby. No, Dean is safe but the fact that Dad threatened was usually enough for either boy to realize the seriousness of the situation.
But Dad drops it for a moment. Either because he really doesn't want a knock down drag out fight with his wounded son or maybe because he doesn't want to lose the argument. Sam smiles a bit at that too; that
Dad doesn't lose well either.
Dad continues to irrigate the wound. Pushes the edges a bit. This time, Dean doesn't open his mouth. He does not even flinch. Sam has a feeling that if Dad was to shove his finger down the hole, Dean would not so much as twitch. No, Dad has basically told Dean to shut the fuck up unless he is willing to talk and that order Dean seems to understand just fine, thank you very much