John opened his eyes slowly. He couldn't see anything. Blinking hard, he opened his eyes again. There was no difference. There was a flash of panic, a fear of having gone blind. Then a sliver of light peeked across the floor. As his eyes adjusted, John could see vague impressions of furniture, barely more than shapes. He was lying on a narrow bed. Pain shot through him as he attempted to move. Groaning aloud and gritting his teeth he tried again. Muscles pulled, strained. John rolled from his side to his stomach. Pushing himself up with his arms hurt like hell, like fire boiling in his tendons and bones. Head pounding, stars dancing in his vision he forced himself to stay in a seated position until it passed. Every movement hurt like he'd run a marathon, climbed a mountain and fell down the other side of it. The bones in his legs ached as he shifted them from beneath scratchy sheets.
John took stock of himself before standing. Head still attached? check. Neck sore and stiff? Check. He wiggled his fingers. They were stiff, but all still there. Check. John wiggled his toes, checking for feeling in his legs. Pain tore through him like a knife. Yup, feeling in his legs. Check. Oh god, check.
Upon standing, the blood rushed from his head. Limited vision blurred and John sat back down. The sheets scraped uncomfortably across his skin as he gripped them tight to ground himself. Already his breathing grew heavy, labored. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was white. Everything went white again.
Again?
John shook his head. Instead of clearing it, the movement made his head spin. Fighting nausea, John gripped the sheets tighter. He felt sticky, like he hadn't showered for weeks. Forcing himself to stand, John gritted his teeth and fought to stay upright. Muscle through it, Winchester.
John let his breath out in a huff, barely keeping himself from shaking his head again. Shambling across the room, to the crack of light, John struggled to move in a straight line. He swayed side to side, stumbling, pausing to catch himself. Limbs shook, muscles ached. Nausea pulled at his hollow stomach and gut, swirling like a toilet flushing. John groaned, one hand going to his forehead as the other steadied himself against the wall. He shuttered, body clenching. Breathing deeply through his nose, John could smell…
Waffles?
Reaching blindly, John's hand scrabbled along the wall until he felt the cold metal door handle. He pushed against it. It didn't budge. It must open the other way. John pulled. The door shifted and stuck. He grumbled, yanking hard.
The sudden brightness blinded worse than the darkness had. John squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. The light sent fresh waves of pain into his aching skull. Cool air washed over him, throwing his damp skin into sharper focus. John lifted an arm up in a vain attempt to shield his eyes.
"Dad!" Wood scraped against wood. Forcing his throbbing eyes open, John could see the blurry outline of Deanna running towards him, arms outstretched. Out of habit, he reached for her, opening his arms. She leapt into them. Vainly trying to lift Deanna to him, John instead fell to his knees with her. Ignoring his screaming legs, he held Deanna close.
The light still hurt, but John's vision steadily cleared. The wooden floor beneath him was dark, easier on his eyes. Deanna's messy hair was pulled back. She squeezed him tight. Her little arms wrapped around his aching head.
"Hey sweetheart." He breathed. John made an effort to stand again. His muscles wouldn't obey him. Mentally he shrugged. Staying on the floor seemed just fine for now.
"You're awake."
John looked up, squinting. Bill sat at a little table in the center of the room, feeding Sammy a bottle. He looked much the same as John remembered him. Average build and height with a glint of humor in his eyes. His beard looked fuller than last time. Bill stood, awkwardly shifting Sammy as he did. There was a special kind of fear when someone else held your baby. John felt like screaming, like yanking Sammy out of Bill's hands. It was an impulse he'd learned to curb when Deanna was a baby. It drove Mary absolutely crazy, but they were so fragile, so small. John was constantly afraid he'd break them, especially those first few months. There was no telling what other people might do, or how careful they'd be. Sam looked content in Bill's arms, so John let it go as much as he could.
Bill strode quickly to John, extending his free hand to John. He took it and Bill hefted him to his feet. John felt a little light headed, but for once stars didn't cloud his vision. He nodded briefly in thanks. Deanna still clung to him, wrapping her legs around his chest. John didn't even mind the pain it caused.
Bill stayed by him, supporting him when he stumbled. "Here, take a seat." John nearly fell, briefly, and he could see panic flash in Bill's eyes.
John sat heavily, bones jarring. He gritted his teeth, seething. He probably wasn't moving anytime soon. The room they were in was small, consisting of a small kitchen, the table, and a ring of small couches. Every spare inch of wall was covered in bookshelves of varying sizes. Each clashed with the other. Different colors, different textures, different sizes of books. The books looked old, like the mountain of books Fletcher carted around with him. In the leftover space, strange symbols had been carved into the wooden walls and doorframes.
John took stock of the exits. There was the door he'd come through, behind him. to his right was a door with a diamond shaped window. From this angle he couldn't see through to the next room. To his left was the final door, on the same wall as the kitchen window. It was a safe bet that door lead outside. A thick ring of salt surrounded that door.
Aside from the four of them, the room was empty. Used dishes littered the table in front of him, covered in the remains of eggs, bacon, and syrup. John's stomach roared at him, hunger gnawing at his hollow stomach.
Bill didn't sit back down. "Hungry?" he looked at John, already moving to the kitchen.
Deanna lifted her head off John's chest. "Bill made waffles."
It was the most he'd heard he speak in weeks. His heart lifted at the sound of her voice. Unconsciously, John grinned, looking down at her. "Bill made waffles? Did you eat some?"
Deanna nodded. "Mmm-hmm!" she was looking down at his shirt, like she was going to go quiet again.
John wanted to keep her talking, about anything. "How'd they taste?"
Deanna snuggled back into his chest. "Not as good as yours."
There was a bark of laughter from Bill at that. John smiled, touched and a little proud of Deanna. His heart felt lighter than it had in months. The girls were safe. Deanna was talking. It wasn't much, but it made a world of difference to John.
Bill set a plate in front of John. John's stomach howled in triumph. Bacon, eggs, and potatoes, not to mention the two thick waffles taking up the center of the plate. His mouth watered. "It might be a bit cold, but…"
John was already digging in, shaking his head. The food was cold, but he'd never tasted anything so good. "Thank you." He mumbled around a mouthful of food. Mary would have glared at him for that.
Bill sat back down to John's right. Sam still sucked away at her bottle. John frowned slightly. How much had Bill made for her? He had no problem with her eating—in fact, he was thrilled—but they were running low on formula. John couldn't remember how much money was left. Worry and panic flared in the back of his mind. What if they ran out, and he didn't have the money to get more? John forced the worry down. He'd figure it out. He didn't know how, but he had to figure something out. They were counting on him.
Sammy cooed, smiling around her bottle at John. He swallowed, smiling back at her. "Hey Sammy." Squirming upright in Bill's arms (which seemed to surprise him. he probably didn't know she could do that) she reached out for John. The bottle slipped, Bill catching it. Good reflexes.
Bill looked a little uncertain of what to do. "Uh…" He looked at Deanna, still clinging to John like a limpet.
John set his fork down, holding his arms out. "Here, I can take her."
Bill raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
John nodded. It was about time he held both his babies.
Bill shrugged, unconvinced. Awkwardly leaning forward, he passed Sammy to John. John cradled Sammy in the crook of his right arm, taking the bottle from Bill and giving it back to her. She sucked greedily at it, smiling up at him. John couldn't help but smile back. After both girls had settled, John used his free hand to continue eating. Bill looked a little impressed.
John smirked a little around his food. If there was one thing he could be proud of as a parent, it was his ability to hold both his children at the same time.
So...I really have no excuse for the delay. Not a good one at least. Please feel free to throw all the things at me.
There was an epilogue to this, but it was-and still is-kinda crappy, so I scrapped it. I may, if you guys really want me to, go back and edit it so it can be posted. It just had some things with Ellen and Danny, and explaining what happened while John was out.
