Disclaimer:Just the standard disclaimer folks. I don't own anyone or anything you recognize. Supernatural belongs to the CW, Eric Kripke, and anyone affiliated as such. I am not making any money, nor is any offence intended.
Author's Notes:This follows two previous stories if you haven't read Renovations and Shadows please read them first or some of this will not make sense. That said there are some references here that might upset some, but nothing worse than what happened in the last two stories.
Thanks to Muffy for the beta. I played with it a bit after getting it back so any leftover mistakes are totally mine.
I hope you enjoy the following.
Scar Tissue
by Infinite Shadow
Chapter 4
It felt like mere moments had passed when Dean felt a shift of pressure on his chest. Immediately his eyes opened and he looked around taking his bearings.
"He's been dreaming," John said ever so softly so as to not spook either of his children.
Dean blinked several times to try and knock away the cobwebs of sleep. "Sorry sir," he said softly.
"He's been fine up until now. Barely moved and hardly made a sound above a sigh," John said barely above a whisper. "Not sure why you woke now."
Dean yawned and looked out the window. It was still dark but he could see a light dusting of snow had covered the side of the road in the Impala's headlights, but he was sure they had a long ways to go yet. "How long was I out for?" he asked as his eyes started to close again.
"'Bout three hours. We're just getting into the mountains now. It's only going to get colder. Go back to sleep Dean," John said.
Dean wanted to say no, it was fine, he'd stay awake but his body seemed to have other ideas as his eyes closed and he drifted back to sleep.
John watched the road and glanced back in the rear-view mirror to check on his sons. They looked like they were sleeping; Sammy was for sure since he hadn't mastered faking it yet. Dean on the other hand could look relaxed, his breathing even and calm, but he could be looking at you a second later as if he hadn't been sleeping at all.
He hoped his sons were sleeping. The next few weeks were not going to be fun. He ran a hand over his face in tired frustration. He really thought they'd left this all behind them. He should have known better.
Sammy's nightmares should have been his first clue. They didn't go one night without the kid screaming out in fear, or pain or outright panic. John had tried to help, but his attempts had been disastrous. With his mind still muddled with sleep Sam had scrambled out of bed as soon as John had touched his arm, grabbed his knife out of his jacket and sliced John's arm as he tried to defend himself.
It had taken Dean well over an hour to get the knife away from him and settled back into bed. Tremors wracked Sammy's body and he wouldn't let go of Dean. His eyes wide and fearful he finally tucked his face into his brother's chest. Thankfully, the knife hadn't cut deep at all, a minor wound at best and John was able to handle it on his own. There would have been no way Dean would have been able to pull himself away to help, and he wouldn't have asked. All Sammy's nightmares from that point forward were handled by Dean.
After that night, he'd kept a closer watch over his boys without their knowledge as they eased back into hunting. He'd kept an open dialogue with Dean about where and what they'd go after. They'd have heated discussions over what newspaper stories to follow up on and research that would border on arguments, but not really get that far.
John had taken on a few solo jobs, but he'd returned to his kids within twenty-four hours at the very most. Dean had pretty much been benched from anything too difficult as had his little brother, and while it frustrated his oldest son to have to stay behind he understood it was for the best for both him and Sammy for different reasons.
Even through all the discussions about which hunts to take on John and Dean had agreed that Sam was limited to salt and burns only. After everything that had gone on, he was not to be left alone. John's standing orders were the boys hunted with John and never without him or alone. Dean had agreed, but John had seen a bit of reluctance. His oldest son had learned to deal with his anger and emotions by either shutting down or killing something evil. But he would put Sammy above everything to ensure his little brother's safety no matter how badly he wanted to be in the field, and taking down as much evil as he could get his hands on.
They had both seen Sam struggling with coming to terms with what had happened to him during John's possession. While they didn't want to keep him out of the family business, making him feel left out, they didn't want him in a position where he'd be hurt in anyway. Salt and burns were never easy, but in relative terms they were the safest job they could do.
It was the morning after a solo job, as he was waiting for the boys to get packed up and into the car, that he'd seen the bandage around Sam's hand for the first time. It continued to show up from time to time with a week or two in between. While he should have asked, Sam had always gone to Dean before John had been possessed and he just figured his sons were looking after the wound.
John knew Sam had been doing more than his fare share of the digging. In fact some nights he literally threw himself into the work with a vengeance. It was a fight to make him stop long enough to take a drink of water or just a small break to rest. John had just figured his youngest boy was giving himself blisters from the worn down shovel handle and Dean had been helping him keep his blisters clean and free of infection. John had left it at that, and had hoped his son would come to him on his own but did understand why he wouldn't or couldn't. Maybe someday Sammy would trust him, but he knew that day was a long ways down the road but still he hoped.
His call with Bobby had been extremely short and eye opening. "Spiritually wounded" his friend had said as soon as John had answered his cell phone. It was evil that had gotten into the knife wound on Sam's hand during the blood ritual. It wasn't so much that the boy was possessed in the conventional way. More like he'd been infected with a virus that couldn't be contained by normal methods or drugs.
Bobby had compared Sam's wound to Dean's blood poisoning, but in this case the wound wasn't visible with the naked eye, or even a medical professional's eye. John's heart had clenched painfully as he'd listened intently to his friend on the other end of the line. The wound had not been tended to properly and was for a lack of better term, festering.
The wound did not mark a person's skin. It started to slowly change the infected person's personality. For someone like Sam who had a gentle nurturing sort of disposition, it would slowly begin to change them to defiant and combative. And Lord hadn't that described his youngest to a T over the last few months. Looking back over time since they'd been back on the road Sammy had been changing, and not in a good way. John believed he was just trying to deal with what had happened to him. Now he knew better.
Sammy had changed so much that he didn't know why he hadn't seen it. His youngest son was always eager to learn new fighting moves or how to handle a weapon. John was sure it had been to make him and Dean proud though, instead of wanting to kill evil. He'd still been a good and generous little boy with deep streak of mischief that kept Dean on his toes. Now it was as if that personality had been locked away leaving nothing but anger in its wake.
They were always arguing. If John said the sky was blue, Sam argued it was grey. If John asked him pack up his stuff so they could get on the road the answer was no. If John said they were looking for a werewolf Sam's answer was something different. It was never a conversation which was how Dean brought up a challenge. With Sammy it seemed he wanted to argue and push his luck.
It was exhausting, and each time Sam seemed to step on his last nerve that made him explode in kind. No wonder Dean had started to hustle alone. His oldest needed a break from his own family.
John wondered if he should've pressed the issue, but knew that would've pushed Sammy away even more. He could've gone to Dean and forced the issue that way, but he was sure his oldest son would've resented him for it.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda didn't get them anywhere. He couldn't change the past, they just had to learn to live with what had happened and face the present with that knowledge.
The only thing they had to do was help his youngest son heal. But for all the false bravado his oldest son had, for all the reassured I'm fine, with a shrug and fake smile, John knew Dean needed to heal as well. He knew Dean suffered often from nightmares, from being abandoned, close to beaten to death, and memories of the hospital. John figured Dean didn't know he mumbled in his sleep, and most nights he awoke to his son begging his father to come back for him. Begging to be rescued and promising he'd be a better hunter if his dad would just come back.
On the worst nights John would silently get out of bed and ever so gently lay his hand over Dean's chest. He'd sooth him back to sleep murmuring just as softly back to his oldest that he was there, he wasn't hurt and he would never abandon him again. He was safe with him and Sammy. Usually it was enough so that Dean would settle back into what seemed like a dreamless sleep. On the odd nights, Dean would bolt up in bed ready to fight his father off, but waking fast enough to physically shove away John's hand and start to pull back his fist to fight before he would stop and ask his dad what was wrong.
John would just shake his head. He'd look into eyes still glazed from sleep that everything was just fine, he'd just been checking on him and Sammy and that he needed to go back to sleep. Dean would stare at him for a moment before he'd relax, slip back under the covers and asleep within minutes.
The car slipped slightly on some compact ice on the road and John's attention snapped back to the road. It had started to snow lightly and his hands tightened slightly on the wheel. He had to push away all of his thoughts and concentrate on just getting to Bobby's safely. He needed to get his children well again. Nothing mattered aside from that. Nothing.
0000000000000
Dean slowly eased back to consciousness. As he became more aware he knew he was in the Impala, that something heavy was resting against his chest and that he hurt from the position he was in.
His eyes opened and closed immediately. It was bright, too bright. He took comfort that the Impala was steadily moving, the engine purring around him like a lullaby. He always got too relaxed when he slept in the car with his father taking control of the wheel. It was one of the safest places he had ever known in his entire life. Bobby's salvage yard and Pastor Jim's were a very close second and third.
"Where are we," Dean mumbled as he cracked his eyes open again.
"Middle of nowhere," John answered. "Pit stop coming up. Wake Sammy."
"Ok," Dean said and looked down to where his brother had his back against his chest. He took a moment to check the wound on Sam's hand. The bandages were a tiny bit stained in a few small spots, but aside from that it was still clean. There was no blood showing through at all. "Hey, Little Man. Up and at 'em."
Sam sighed and tried to curl around his brother. He hit the back of the seat, lifted his head, then put it back down on Dean's chest. He murmured something unintelligible and his breathing evened out again.
"Come on, Sammy. You need to wake up now," Dean said, giving him a gentle shake.
"No," Sam whined.
Dean glanced up and saw his father's grin. "Dude, don't be like that. Come on. Gotta check your hand and dad's going to stop at the rest stop. Then you can go back to sleep."
Sam sighed dramatically, leaned his head back and blinked sleepily up at his brother.
"Mornin', sunshine," Dean said as he grinned down at him.
Sam glared at him and struggled to sit up right. "No fair. You're too happy to be just up," he grumbled.
Dean just grinned at him.
"We're stopping in a minute, Sam," John said.
"Ok," Sam said and looked out the window. "There's snow."
"Yeah we're in the mountains," Dean said, then yawned. "I'll get the coats out from the back"
"Got them already. Stopped once for coffee," John said. "Figured you two would wake up, but you were both dead to the world."
Dean leaned forward and took the coats his father was handing back to them. "Thanks."
"Just a ten minute break, boys. We got to push on to Bobby's," John said as he pulled off into a rest stop and parked the car. "Understood?"
"Yeah," Sam said.
"Show me your hand, Sam," John said and was satisfied when his son showed him a mostly clean bandage. "All right. Off you go."
Dean nodded and walked his brother into the rest stop bathroom.
John watched them for a minute before he pulled out his cell phone. He checked in with Bobby to tell them where they were, and when his friend asked about his son, John updated him on Sam's condition. Then he, too, headed off to the small building.
John got three drinks and some snacks out of the machine. He gave them to the boys and headed into the bathroom. Five minutes later, they were back on the road. Breakfast was pop and oatmeal raisin cookies.
"You know these taste like cardboard," Sam grimaced as he looked at the cookie. "Why can't we just keep boxes of cereal in the car?"
"Dude, shut it and eat," Dean said, his mouth full of half chewed cookie.
"Dean," John said with a quiet sigh. "Sammy, you don't have to eat it. Just thought you boys would be hungry. Next town is at least an hour or two hour away. We'll stop for food then, but in the mean time it's what we have. Your choice to eat it or not."
Sam snorted. "Not."
"Fine, give it to me then," Dean said and took the cookie from his brother. He put it on the bench seat between him and his father for when his little brother changed his mind.
TBC...
