Chapter 9
"Dean, hey, you awake?"
John leaned closer to his son, pulling the chair with him, so Dean wouldn't have to strain too much to turn towards him. He could see his throat working for a second or two before the words would finally form, heavy lids dragging open while speaking.
"Yeah, dad…I'm awake…"
It sill took him awhile to get his bearings and it was the hardest thing to watch his own son struggling with the smallest things as if they were horribly exhausting. But once he had regained most of his composure back, John was glad to see that his son was faring just a little better. His eyes, for one, would open almost all the way up now, and while he still needed to refocus them every couple of seconds he at least could look at his father now. He was able to form more than one-word-sentences, too, short ones and very slowly but still.
Yet he still looked horrible, bruised and far too pale wherever there was a patch of un-bruised skin left. And John knew that he was in far worse pain than he let on, so he had to remind himself to go easy on him. He just wasn't used to the sight of Dean in such a state, so weak and vulnerable. Those adjectives he usually didn't associate with his oldest.
John waited with forced patience until Dean had focused on him, carefully pulling himself in a slightly more upright position and chose to ignore the low hisses of pain this movement drew out of him. Dean wouldn't want him to acknowledge this weakness so he let it pass for now, however hard that was on him.
Wordlessly he handed his son the cup of water from the nightstand, adjusted the straw so Dean could take a tentative sip, eyes closed in indignation, before finally broaching the subject he had come to attend to.
One look at his son told him that he was everything but ready, but he couldn't postpone this any longer. His heart ached for his oldest, so obviously in agony, body and mind, but there was just no other way.
"Son, we need to talk…"
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He knew what was coming, had known that it would sooner or later, he had just wished it to be far later than now. He braced himself, brain working in overdrive. Just let him start this, buy some time.
"Dean, I know this is probably hard on you right now, but we gotta talk about what happened."
Dean braced himself, body visibly tensing, but there was just no way around it.
"Listen, the police was already here to talk to you. Dr. Parker was able to send them off for now, but that didn't buy us much time, I'm afraid. They'll be back soon and we need to have a plan of action until then."
Dean nodded slowly. He knew that his dad was right, it was just that he really didn't know what his plan of action should be. He had thought about it long and hard, in the few waking moments at the hospital but especially during his long, torturous escape from hell but no matter which way he turned it, there was no easy answer to be found. If it was a demon or supernatural creature that had attacked him, there would have been no second thought – he'd tell his dad and they'd find it and kill it – case closed.
This was different.
The monsters that had done this to him were only human, people, kids as a matter of fact. He had no plan on how to handle that, none whatsoever. Sure, some part of him really, really wanted them to suffer, tie them up and beat the shit out of them until they begged him to stop, make them bleed and suffer just like they did him.
Lock them in a coffin and bury them alive.
But then there was this other part of him, the part that he didn't quite understand, the part that wouldn't, couldn't inflict harm on another human being, no matter what. He knew they deserved to be punished, severely so, but he didn't think he could do it, could live with himself after, and he sure didn't want his dad to do it either.
The "normal" course of action would be to turn them over to the police.
Well, normal was not the Winchester-way, never had been.
For one, turning those punks over would certainly lead to countless interviews and interrogations and eventually, someone would find out that they weren't really called Webster, that they had filled out the insurance forms with a wrong name. Then there was the little topic of their credit cards scams to think about, too. Being part of a police investigation didn't sit well with the work they were doing, period, with all the weapons they carried around, digging up graves, burning bodies, destroying stuff along the way. They had tried to stay below the police radar so far, this was not going to help them, not at all.
Someone finding out would ultimately result in getting them into trouble. Once the authorities got wind of their situation…it wouldn't be the first time that social services had been on their case but so far they had been able to dodge the worst of it. They'd be up and gone by the time anyone would come looking any closer. They couldn't run with a lawsuit running, they'd be fair game to anyone who cared to get to them.
Then, of course, an investigation and the following lawsuit would mean that they couldn't move, couldn't proceed to hunt. Plus there was the little problem of being able to afford a lawyer, should they actually choose to hire one.
No, not an option, for sure. He didn't need his dad to tell him that.
The other thing he was afraid of was of his dad's reaction. He had tried to think this through and he could only come up with one possible scenario. While John had always taught his sons that humans were not to be harmed Dean just didn't know if this rule still applied once one of his sons was involved. For all his faults nobody could say that John Winchester wouldn't fight for his sons, wouldn't revenge them. If anything ever hurt them, just like those kids had hurt Dean…he just wasn't sure his dad wouldn't just go off, break his own rule and get himself in deep trouble.
Dean didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he was the cause of his dad actually doing harm to other people and all the consequences this would drag along…for all of them.
He just wished he had a little more time to think this through, to get his drugged up brain clear enough to come up with a solution to this problem.
"Dean, come on. I know it's hard but you got to tell me what did this to you so I can go deal with it. Then we can come up with a story for the cops and as soon as you are better, we just get as far away from here as possible…put it all behind us…"
His dad's voice was soft but Dean could still feel the determination behind them. Plus something else. A little impatience, maybe, definitely on edge.
Dean dealt his last ace then, hoping it would buy him just a little more time.
"Dad…I don't know. It's still…everything…such a blur. I'm not sure. I don't think I remember…maybe I just…need some more time…"
John's head sank and Dean knew he had lost. As much as his dad loved him, weakness was never something that would be forgiven. When John lifted his face up again Dean could see the decision edged into his features all too clearly. He thought he saw disappointment, too, and it tore at his heart to think, know that he was the source of it.
"Alright then. If you're sure, I'll just pack some things then and go up to were they found you, try to track that thing down. I'm sure you left some sort of trail, shouldn't be too hard to follow it to wherever it was that it took you to. I'll find it and deal with it and come back as soon as I'm done…"
Dean felt his head go light, thoughts jumbling over each other, not sure if that was because of the meds or the concussion or something else entirely. He watched as his dad leaned back, putting distance between them, mentally and physically and he knew that he had to act, now, or he'd end up having blood on his hands he couldn't deal with – human blood, his dad's, what little was left of their family...
"Dad, no…wait. I…there is something…something I do remember..." his voice so damn small and shaking. Now wasn't that just great…
That got John's attention and he instantly leaned closer again, mere inches from his son's face oblivious to the discomfort he was causing for now.
"What, Dean, what is it? Do you know what it was?"
A slow nod, against the splitting headache, not caring.
"It was…they were just…Dad, they were just some kids…some kids from school…"
Well, that was even harder than he had imagined. Dean Winchester, kick-ass demon-hunter, picked up and beaten to a bloody heap by just some kids from my school. Just freaking great.
If this didn't completely kill his dad's confidence in him then what else would?
He didn't think he would ever forget the look on his dad's face after that confession.
"Come again?"
"They were just those kids…from my class…some jerks…I don't know why…I never did anything to them…" his voice was suddenly small like a child's, laced through with pain and fear. Great, add that to the humiliation.
"So they were possessed…must have been some kind of demon possessing human bodies…"
Dean heard his dad say the words but knew, deep down, he didn't believe them himself. Couldn't believe that his son, the soldier he'd trained, got sidetracked by some punks.
"No, dad…not possessed, just people…just...themselves…"
He didn't think he could take to look at his dad anymore so he blinked his eyes slowly, turning his head away. Worked through some painful breaths, working on calming himself down. At least that ought to make him stop storming out to the forest and after them, right?
Well, seemed like he didn't know his father as well as he thought he did.
After some endless seconds, minutes of silence filled only by his raspy breathing, the chair his dad was sitting on suddenly scratched over the worn linoleum that made up the floor, making Dean jump almost out of his skin. Within seconds he knew what John was going to do, and he knew that he had to stop him. He needed to protect his family, keep them together, that's all that counted. More than his pride. More than anything. He didn't want those freaks' blood to stain their hands, break them apart, no way.
"No, dad…please…wait…"
He propelled himself up and forward, reaching for his father's arm to hold him back.
Pain hit in white hot waves, stabbing at his chest, his abdomen, making his head scream. He felt stitches tear at tender skin as the muscles in his abdomen cramped from the sudden movement, felt something give and an all too familiar warmth engulf his entire body.
He missed his dad's arm by far, slipping off the mattress of his bed, slumping awkwardly forward and being unable to break his fall he slid off his bed and into darkness.
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He hadn't been able to catch his son's falling body, been only able to break some of the force with which he rushed towards the floor. John had cradled Dean's body in his arms then, holding him closer than he had in a long, long time, whispering promises that everything would be alright.
Funny how he only seemed to be able to do so when Dean was unconscious or delusional.
He held his son's shaking and trembling form in his arms, waiting for the hospital staff to rush to his aide when Dean actually woke up again, held on to him with more fervour than he should have been able to, locked surprisingly lucid eyes with him.
"Dad, you…gotta promise…don't do anything…stupid. We NEVER…never hurt people…"
What could John really say to that? Getting his own rules thrown back at his face like that. At least he knew that his lessons actually struck a chord, that they were obeyed. And Dean was right, he really couldn't…there was just a certain line they could never cross. Not without putting everything at stake that they had left.
So he had nodded then, promised his son to not do anything about this until they had figured something out.
"Dad…gotta promise…something else."
"Sure, Dean, just tell me, what else?"
Another tremor shook him and John felt warm blood seep through the bandages on his stomach, stain his hospital gown a dark red. Yet his voice was surprisingly strong.
"Don't tell Sammy…"
"Dean, why wouldn't you want him to know…I don't understand."
"Bad enough...he knows what's out there in the dark…shouldn't be afraid…of the light…on top of it!"
Now how could he argue against that?
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"Dad, what did you say to him…what the…what happened in there?"
"Nothing, Sam. We were just…we were just talking, about what happened. I wanted to know what he remembered."
John couldn't stand the look on his son's face, accusation written all over it, etched deep into those soulful hazel eyes. Uncertainty, too, and he hated to think that maybe Sam was right. It seemed like all he could do was get his son's into trouble. They really didn't deserve this.
"So, what did he say? He knows what took him?"
John thought long and hard about his answer to that question. But for now he decided to stick to his promise.
"No, Sam, he doesn't. Doesn't remember a thing. Probably due to that concussion. The doctor says that's not too unexpected, that it might come back to him some day."
"So, what exactly happened, why did he freak out like that…?"
"Sam, I don't really know. He just…he panicked, tried to get up. I didn't get to him in time, should have been there faster…they said he pulled those stitches out, the ones in his abdomen. He was bleeding again and they need to make sure that nothing else got damaged in the process…"
Sam looked away, fighting down the tears again ready to well. He just didn't think he could take this much longer. His damn brother draining all the strength out of him with his inability to stay well and unharmed for any longer stretch of time.
"Why can't he stop getting hurt, for once, dad? Why does he always have to get hurt?"
Yet another question that John didn't seem to be able to find an answer to.
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John sat in the chair again, watching his son sleep more or less peacefully. Those drugs they were giving him had to be pretty strong to zone Dean out like that, even if it was just for some hour or two at a time. Dean always had been a restless sleeper, always tossing and turning, never sleeping on his back, either. But right now he needed the sleep, the deeper the better, needed to heal.
He had been lucky, considering, the fall having ripped practically every single stitch out of his abdomen, yet apparently not doing any additional damage to the internal injuries. Nothing but a lot more pain to go through.
Add that to the list of my mistakes, John thought bitterly.
Sammy was asleep as well, sprawled across the stuffed chair under the window, mouth hanging slightly open, drooling a little. Dean would have loved to see that, would never let Sammy see the end of it. But right now John couldn't even bring himself to smile when thinking about his sons banters and teasing.
He felt spent, utterly and completely bone deep tired, all energy drained from his body. And it wasn't just the past day's worries and sleep deprivation that tore at him. There was something else he knew he needed to do and it basically ripped his heart into pieces to even think about it.
Dean's confession had shocked him, more so than he would admit to himself. The thought of his son being beaten and tortured by nothing more than humans…this was just something way beyond anything his mind could come to terms with.
Funny, he'd have readily taken on all the forces out of hell to avenge his son, but this? Mind you, it wasn't as if John would have given it a second thought, right at that first moment when Dean had told him. He'd have gone out and...and done what, exactly? What would he have done? Truth was, he didn't know.
Hell yeah, he had preached to his sons time and time again that people were not in their line of business, that even revenge for some wrong done to them was nothing they could justify, they just couldn't afford that. They never, ever were to inflict harm on another human being.
But now things were different somehow. Nobody, absolutely nobody messed with John Winchester's family.
He knew that his short temper was his weakness, definitely not his only one but the one that was most likely to get him into serious trouble one day. He had always thought that Dean was a like him in that department. Too much like him maybe. In every way except for when his brother was concerned. He'd have the patience of a saint then, letting Sam push it up to a point were John would be ready to blow up. Dean would remain gentle and that, he thought, was something that was so much like Mary that it almost broke his heart at times.
He looked at both his sons, taking them in, felt his heart well up with pride and fatherly love. They would turn out to be great men one day…that was if he could keep them alive long enough…
There was no way he'd want them any different than they were right now.
Thinking about how Sam had taken care of his brother, had cared for, stuck to him.
The way Dean had fought his way out of there, against all odds, had endured terrors beyond imagination to get back to his family. And after everything that had happened, everything they had done to him, he was still strong enough to push past his definite anger and pride and was ready to make sure that his father didn't do anything stupid that would put all of their lives risk. Not going after those kids was definitely the toughest decision John had made in a long time, if not ever. But he had promised his son. He owed him that much.
There was no doubt in his mind that it was the hardest decision for Dean as well.
Never break the rules.
They'd figure something out along the way.
With everything that had happened it made it all the harder to do what he was about to do now. It wasn't a decision he had made lightly but he knew that they probably wouldn't see it quite that way. Sam definitely wouldn't, he was always the more impulsive one. He'd give him a hard time, John had no doubt about that.
But in a way it would be more difficult with Dean. He at least would pretend to understand, would seemingly accept every explanation his dad threw at him. Still it left John wondering if, inside, he really did understand. Sometimes that quiet acceptance scared him more that Sam's obvious resistance.
And there were always those eyes, that betrayed no emotion, hiding his feelings so well.
With Sam all his emotion lay right there in his hazel eyes, anger and hurt and betrayal written clearly all over them.
They would come to terms with it, eventually. They still had each other, after all, they'd take care of one another. Always had.
His inability to sit by and watch his son suffer through this now did strike even himself as being so utterly wrong but he just couldn't stay, couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He couldn't be strong enough for all of them…now what the hell kind of father did that make him?
He ran trembling hands over his face, across the dark stubble that had grown there over the past week. OK, better get this over with. Putting it off any longer would not make it any easier.
He straightened himself for the confrontation to come.
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AN:
OK, so I was a little nervous about this part…and the next one, too. I know that some of you expected John to kick some butt…and I tried that too, but it just didn't seem right. I tried explaining it in Dean's thoughts on the subject and hope that I could get it across somehow. I think he will have some kind of confrontation in the end, though…!
So, hope you are still with me and as always – please take the time to review if you liked it!
Next part is done and will be up soon!
