Hello, everyone, I am back. I wrote this next part whilst on a wonderful train ride. I would have posted this sooner, but FFN wouldn't let me into my account. I was pretty angry, but they let me in today! (yay)
This thing started out with a one-shot, but now, instead of calling it a 'three-shot', I shall change it to 'short story'. Especially since there will probably be one or two more parts after this...
so in this part, there are spoilers for In My Time of Dying. And though I wish I did, I don't own Supernatural at all. Oh, and many thanks for reviews!!
"Time of death, 10:41 AM," the doctor finally declared.
Sam and Dean were completely speechless. This couldn't be happening.
Their father just died. Their father was gone—he was never coming back. And that fact alone hit the boys harder than anything they had ever experienced.
Suddenly, Sam glanced up, for a moment hearing murmuring in his head. He frowned as he listened to the familiar voice closely. It must be my psychic thing working up again, he thought to himself as he listened. The words spoken to him didn't cheer him up in the very least, even though they were meant to be encouraging—or maybe for a sense of closure. Once the voice faded away, Sam looked over to his brother, who looked as if he were about to collapse right there.
"Dean…are you okay?" he asked. God, he thought, it looks like his heart stopped. Once the thought had flashed through his mind, more worry came with it. Dean was still recovering, after all.
Dean swallowed hard, finding himself unable to take his eyes off the lifeless form of the man he had looked up to for his entire life. "I…I'm fine," he answered after a long pause. It was a complete lie, he knew, but maybe if he pretended to be okay, he would eventually believe it. And more importantly, maybe Sam would believe it too.
"You need to get back to your room," a worried nurse told Dean, seeing right through his mask—or the sickly pallor of his face.
"She's right, Dean," Sam agreed, before leading Dean away. He needed to speak with his brother privately.
Once Dean was in bed again, Sam slowly eased himself in the chair next to the bed, a thoughtful look on his face.
"What is it, Sam?" Dean asked, seeing that his brother had something on his mind.
Sam shook his head, as if that would force everything to make sense to him. "It's just…After Dad died, I…I heard something."
Dean tilted his head to one side. "You heard something," he repeated flatly. Frankly he wasn't too interested in anything Sam had heard. He just wanted to sleep. Maybe when he woke up, he would realize that it was all some hellish nightmare, and John really wasn't dead. And what kept nagging at Dean was the way John acted right before he died…
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I did," he replied, apparently not noticing the fact that Dean didn't care. "I heard a voice…and it was Dad's."
Dean instantly looked up. "Sammy," he warned sharply.
"No, Dean, just hear me out, okay?" Sam waited until Dean looked like he might be listening before continuing. "He…he said goodbye… He said that he loved us, and he said that we needed to kill the demon…"
"Or maybe it was all your imagination," Dean retorted.
Sam folded his arms across his chest. "No, it wasn't." He watched as Dean shook his head, but he ignored him and said, "After that, he said he was sorry…well, he said he was sorry for a lot of things… But he also told me…he told me to tell you that he was sorry."
"About what?" Dean asked skeptically.
"I don't know. But he said that he wanted to apologize for a really long time. He said 'tell Dean I'm sorry about the closet'."
Dean's eyes widened, the words striking a chord the moment they left Sam's mouth. The closet. So John did remember what happened…
"Whatever that means," Sam went on. "But he sounded really upset about it." Sam paused, wondering if that part was his imagination. I mean, a closet of all things? Sam thought to himself.
Dean took a deep breath, now completely believing everything Sam said he had heard. He had never told Sam about the closet, and he knew John didn't either…
Sam gave Dean a look. "Does that make any sense to you, Dean?" he questioned, knowing that Dean knew something from the look in his eyes. "Don't tell me it's some codeword or something."
"…It's not a codeword," Dean said quietly.
"Well, what was it then? It sounded really important."
"I didn't even know he remembered," Dean muttered to himself.
"Remembered what?" Sam asked, not liking the feeling of being out of the loop. "What does it mean?"
Dean completely ignored him. He was happy John apologized, but he never needed to. He didn't understand when he was younger, but he knew now that John was drunk that night. He knew his father didn't mean anything he did that night, so Dean had automatically forgiven him several years ago.
"Dean?"
Dean glanced back at Sam, who looked more than a little confused. He clearly wanted an explanation. "I'm tired," Dean told him. "I'm going to take one of those naps that those nurses are always yapping about."
Sam's face changed from confused to frustrated. "But what does it mean? Sorry about the closet? Can't you tell me?"
But Dean was already asleep—or pretending to be asleep.
What the hell? Sam thought. Why can't he tell me what Dad's apologizing for? I know it was important to Dad, and apparently it's important to Dean too. Why aren't I allowed to know? It's not like I'm four anymore.
And Sam knew that if he didn't get it out of Dean soon, he would never get another chance.
I'll make him tell me once he wakes up, Sam decided firmly.
Beneath closed eyes, Dean was being hounded by nightmares. Nightmares of brown-eyed fathers and yellow-eyed girls. What the hell was with that creepy-ass girl anyway? There was something about her…
But what was worse, he was having nightmares about yellow-eyed fathers.
Damn yellow eyes, Dean thought to himself angrily. I hate those damn yellow eyes. I want to rip them from their sockets.
Familiar scenes flashed before him, of the past year, of all the years before that. He wound up in a familiar little closet, all dark and cold.
The door of the closet swung open, and for a moment, Dean squinted against harsh light. He then saw his father in the doorway—with yellow eyes.
"I wish I had left you in here to die," he said. But then the yellow eyes changed to brown, and he said, "I wish I never put you in here to begin with."
"Dad, I—you don't have to—" he began to say.
The eyes went yellow again. "I did it because I can't stand you." The eyes flicked back to brown. "I'm sorry." It seemed like his father was holding an internal war with the yellow-eyed demon inside him, almost like when the demon had possessed him before. "Dean, I don't want you to listen to that demon," he said firmly. "He's a liar."
Dean nodded. "I know, Dad, I'm not listening to him."
John frowned, cocking his head ever so slightly. "That's not what it looked like when it told you that you were needed."
Dean froze, instantly remembering those words…those words that had hurt him so much.
"How do I know that you believe me now, when I'm saying that I'm sorry, if you can believe that demon when he's spewing complete crap?"
"…I'm sorry, Dad," Dean finally said, softly. "I don't believe him at all—I believe you, I always have. And you don't have to say sorry, because I already know…I've known for a long time."
John began to smile, but the smile twisted into a snarl as the yellow-eyed demon took control again. "Daddy's little boy," he spat venomously before slamming the closet door shut.
Dean's eyes shot open, his heart racing wildly for who knows what reason. He remembered his dream in all its vividness. But unfortunately, that also meant remembering that his father was dead… It hurt, knowing he was gone. Dean wanted him back so bad that it almost made it hurt more.
He looked over to Sam, who was sleeping in the chair beside Dean's bed. He looked uncomfortable, which only made Dean feel guilty. If it were up to him, it'd be him sleeping in the chair and Sam sleeping on the bed, no matter how battered Dean may be.
He knew that Sam wanted to know what John had meant when he apologized for the closet ordeal, and he also knew that Sam would stop at nothing to pry it out of him—such was the way of Sam Winchester. He would have to face that fact that it would come out sometime, but he was okay with stalling as much as humanly possible too. He could picture Sam's reaction. His brother would react with 'righteous fury' as Dean called it. And then Dean would have to explain every little detail to smooth things over—and to calm Sam down—and then Sam would drop it…hopefully.
I hope you liked this part. If I get reviews, I shall begin to write the fourth part... with special guest... angry!protective!righteousfury!Sammy.
(tears) I miss John dearly. I'm not sure how, but I want to work in a flashback in one of the next parts with John too. Because he needs to come back into the story somehow.
Well, until next time!