A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm working on about 5 different things right now, but will make every attempt to wrap them all up and update again no later than Saturday. I'll actually have a day to myself with no distractions! Thank you all again. Smooches.
Bobby quickly rushed to his friend's side and discovered the man had been partially right about the stains. There were two noticeably different types of blood. One was the normal, coppery color that was so obviously human, while the other had dried into an unnatural, blackish-red hue. The distinctive smell of rotten eggs faintly clung to John's stiff, blood crusted over-shirt. Quickly connecting the missing pieces, Bobby unceremoniously ripped at the demon-fouled clothing. Seeing the broken skin of numerous lacerations, he swore quietly.
"Damn fool!! Of all people, John, you should've known better," he cursed as he managed to heft the larger man over his shoulder. How he managed to carry the dead weight from the kitchen to the bathroom would forever be a mystery. Sitting his one-time pupil on the side of the tub, he drew a warm bath. He finished undressing the eldest Winchester, tossing the tainted garments in the trashcan.
With a keen eye that would have made Sherlock Holmes envious, Bobby scrutinized the wounds covering his fellow hunter. Many were deep enough to require stitches, had they been treated properly. From the various states of infection, it was evident that they were at least a week or two old. One and two inch cuts riddled the man's body. A few had formed scabs while others had been ripped open further with movement. The hair in the back of John's head was matted with caked blood. Gingerly palpating around the area, Bobby sighed when he found no evidence of fracture.
After making a cursory assessment, his concerned attention was quickly refocused on the most severe of the injuries: a jagged gash running from behind John's left ear, down the side of his neck, curving over the collar bone, and stopping just above his heart. The edges were an angry red that had started to creep forward in little fingers. John winced as Bobby prodded the tender skin. The black, fetid drainage that began to ooze from the ripped flesh confirmed the experienced hunter's suspicion.
He turned off the water and knocked on a panel in the wall beside the towel rack. Slowly, a hidden drawer slid from the wall. With one hand still steadying his ailing comrade, he used the other to remove a pistol, loaded with silver bullets.
Dean had woken upon hearing the familiar rumble of his father's truck. Silently, he crept from his bed and dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants. Stalking down the stairs, he'd stayed out of sight, observing the two older hunters.
Seeing his hero, bloodied and haggard-looking, put the teenager on edge. His hunter's instincts (and protective intuition) screamed that something was not kosher… Sure, he'd seen his dad hurt plenty of times, but this was just different. Perhaps it was the downtrodden way the man's shoulders hung or the shaking in his strong hands that initiated the unease bubbling in Dean's stomach…but it was the broken, despondent vacancy in the usually hyper-vigilant eyes that made the boy rush to the bathroom. After emptying his stomach, he splashed cold water on his face. He took several deep, calming breaths.
He knew the day would happen. On numerous occasions, he had prayed that Sammy would be able to know the man who had read him bedtime stories and helped him sneak pieces of his mom's freshly baked pie. For years, he had desperately clung to a small string of hope…a prayer that his father, Mary's husband, would not be consumed by the fire of revenge… After seeing the look in his dad's eyes, the young man knew that he was now past the point of no return...His father had left to go after a lead on the demon that killed his mother. Dean knew enought about demons to understand that they needed a human vessel to be able to walk on the Earth, that they usually held innocent men and women against their will inorder to do so... The blood encrusted man who had come through that door was John Winchester, Demon Hunter…killer. Dean's emerald eyes glistened with unshed tears. He struggled to accept that John Winchester the Father was now no more than a distant memory.
Bobby continued to riffle through the drawer of goodies until he located it. Raising the Blessed Rosary to his lips, he quietly began to chant in Latin. Making the sign of the Cross, he threw the Rosary into the bathtub effectively creating holy water.
"John…John," he tried to rouse his friend. When the closed eyes fluttered open, Bobby grabbed the stubbled chin, locking gazes. "Listen to me. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, but we have to do it. Do you understand me?" A slight nod was the only response. Steeling himself against the inevitable struggle, Bobby turned the man toward the water and quickly pushed him in.
The contaminated wounds began to smoke upon contact with the holy water. John's eyes flew wide as the pain shot through him. He looked at Bobby, eyes pleading for an explanation for the agony.
"The clothes were soaked in demon blood…it leached into your wounds and they need to be cleaned before it spreads," Bobby tried to be reassuring, but he knew this was just the beginning. The minor cuts quickly 'burnt out' and that pain stopped.
"All good now?" John asked, managing a weak smile. He grimaced when Bobby's face became grim.
"No, John. I'm sorry," he croaked around the massive lump in his throat. Before John had a chance to say a word, the old hunter grabbed both shoulders and pushed him beneath the surface of the water.