Hey! Thanks for the comments! It's been a long time since I really wrote anything and posted it, so it's nice to see that you guys still read whatever little old me writes…
So, here comes the second part of this story. Hope you enjoy…
SPN
It was agony. But he wasn't quite sure what was worse… The actual pain radiating from his leg, or the fact that his dad and Sammy half-carried him back to his 'bed'. A little bit of both, he guessed.
"Hey, boy…" his dad prompted, and Dean looked over at him. His vision was still slightly blurry from the tears, but he could still make out his dad's worried expression.
"Yeah…" damn, he hated how weak his voice seemed.
"If something like this ever happens again…"
Dean nodded, ready for a scolding.
"Please tell us… Ain't no use in waiting for yourself to collapse in front of us…"
Dean was a bit surprised by his father's lack of anger. He had been prepared for one of John Winchester's trademark anger fits.
A little unsure of how to respond, Dean used a second or two before he nodded.
"Good, son…"
SPNSPNSPN
A scream ripped from his lungs as they lowered him onto the sofa. Something in his knee definitely shifted. Like, something inside there slid against something else! In a way nothing should!
Both Sammy and John froze.
"Down! Down!" Dean sputtered gritting his teeth. "Put me down!"
His family obliged and lowered him fully on to the couch, where Dean found it fitting to grab a hold of his left knee in an attempt to steady it.
"Dean, what…?" Sammy started nodding towards his brother's knee.
"Something jarred…" Dean growled back in a deep guttural voice. And if Sammy hadn't known that possessed people sounded exactly like everyone else, he would have sworn that Dean was possessed at the moment.
"Ouch… That doesn't sound good…" John commented, "You sure you don't want to go to the hospital tonight?"
Dean grimaced, he knew that moving would be a bitch. But he also knew that one day difference wouldn't make that much a difference any more… It was weeks since he had injured his leg, a day wouldn't mean much. And the thought of not having to move for the next 6 to 8 hours was tempting.
"Yeah, the couch is comfy… I'll go to the hospital tomorrow…"
John almost chuckled at his oldest' way of deciding when to go to the hospital. But he understood it, he had at times waited to get fixed up himself to have a night of rest…
"Okay, Ace…" He rubbed Dean's shoulder. "You just holler if you need anything…"
Dean nodded.
"Maybe you could use a couple of painkillers?" Sammy chimed in, about ready to go find the first aid kit.
"I have already taken two…" Dean said as he fished up the orange cylinder. "I named them Mystery Painkillers, not sure if it's Vicodin or whatever…"
John chuckled, "I think it was Percocet we managed to snag the last time… Does pretty much the same thing though…"
Dean nodded, "Was afraid it was some sort of vitamins at first... But the pain dulled down, so I figured they were Mystery Painkillers."
John nodded, "And I suppose you've taken a couple before you went out to us?"
"Yeah… Hopefully they'll start working any minute now…"
John nodded.
"Hey dad…" Dean started, a bit uneasy.
"Yeah…"
"You think you could…" Dean trailed off and glanced over at the chair he used to rest his leg on earlier. "Do you think you could help me get my leg up on that…?"
John looked over at the chair with two moldy pillows on top, and he felt a pang of guilt. He knew how bad Dean would have to be to break down over pain, he knew that meant most men would end up like a sobbing heap on the floor… He knew that meant that EVERY movement had to hurt… And somehow he hadn't figured that his son wouldn't be able to prop his own leg up on that chair…
He felt like the worst father… He probably was the worst father… But he didn't know how to do better in a world like this… Before he knew of monsters and demons and all that, he would have sworn he would never hurt his kids. Never lay a hand on them, never cause them pain… Emotional or physical…
Somehow that had become ordinary to them… He held no longer count of how many times he had hit Dean, held no longer count of how many times he had forced Dean to push through pain to finish a job. The worst was… He didn't only hit during training… He knew what booze did to him…
But, he held count over Sammy… He had only hit him 12 times, outside practice…
"Sure, Deano…" John answered, in the exact same voice and manner he used when Dean was a toddler with a scrape on his knee…
Dean almost chuckled, hadn't it been for the fact that his leg felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside…
SPN
Okay, hope you enjoyed it…
I feel like, even though John Winchester screwed up his sons… A lot… He tried to be a decent parent. You know, when he was sober, when they weren't training and when there weren't any supernatural threats around… So I figure he felt a lot of guilt he never spoke about…