TW- ABUSE. If you need to skip this chapter, you won't miss anything. This is just explaining what happened the last time Dean saw John.
Sam had been sitting next to the hospital bed for fourteen hours and fifty seven minutes.
Dean was still unconscious.
"He has three broken ribs, a broken nose, more bruises than we can count, and severe head trauma," the doctor had said. "The bruises and nose are easy to deal with. The ribs and head trauma less so; if he wakes suddenly he could jostle his ribs, which, worst case scenario, could puncture a lung. That's assuming he does wake up. He may go into a coma. We're not sure."
"Can't you do something?" Sam had pleaded.
"For now, we've done all we can. We'll continue monitoring him in the meantime and prepare for possible outcomes. Both good and bad." He looked grimly at Sam. "Son, I hope for both your sake and his that he pulls through this, but preparing for all outcomes means that you have to know he might not make it."
"Dean will make it," Sam insisted.
The doctor nodded, indulging him, then left him alone with Dean and the machines surrounding the bed, flashing, clicking, and whirring.
That was fourteen hours and forty three minutes ago.
Now, Sam buried his head in his hands. "Dammit, Dean, you've got to wake up. Please."
He glanced back towards the bed, where Dean remained bruised and bandaged, unmoving.
This was all his fault, if only he'd done something sooner, if Sam had knocked him out before, or expected John to lunge-
They had been watching Dr. Sexy MD when the knock came. Or rather, Dean had been watching Dr. Sexy while Sam rolled his eyes and researched plane ticket prices to California.
"I'll get it," Dean said, moving away from the TV. "It's a commercial break." He headed for the door, opened it, and stiffened like a soldier faced with their drill sergeant.
"Who is it?" Sam wasn't really paying attention, he was more focused on takeoff times and connections.
There was no response.
"Dean?" Sam got up and made for the door.
Dad was the last person he was expecting. They hadn't seen him in months. Not since Sam had turned eighteen and was able to join Dean in Sioux Falls.
Then, John had cared just enough to wear clean clothes, or at least clothes that looked clean enough. Now, his jacket was discolored and covered in old stains. His hair had never been neat, but now it was matted and messy.
John surveyed him. "Sam." His breath reeked of whisky.
"Dad."
"You two owe me," he said. "You owe me."
Jesus, how drunk is he?
Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"For all those years under my roof," John said. "Letting you eat from my table, clothing you, wasting money on you-"
"You're drunk, Dad."
"You owe me, loadsa money. Loadsa it, fer ever'thing." His words were beginning to slur.
Very drunk. This wasn't good.
"We don't owe you anything," Dean said sharply. "We didn't even have a roof! Just crappy motel rooms here and there."
"I paidfer it all," John said.
"You paid for gas and a night here or there. Guess who got the money for clothes? And food? Me." Dean was getting angrier. "If anything, you owe us. You were our dad, you were supposed to take care of us. Instead, you would go from bar to bar getting drunk off your ass and cart Sam and I behind you, claiming you were looking for Mom's killer. She wasn't murdered, she died in a fire!"
"Don't chu talk 'bout Mary like that." John's voice shook. "Don't talk 'bout her like that."
"It's the truth. She's dead, and it was an accident, not murder! You're just so desperate to have someone to blame that-"
"Y'do best to show me some respeck. I fed an' clothed you, an' I dealed with yer hobbies with them boys. Mary woulda been disgusted, pro'ly wouldn't'ave call you her son if she knew. It was damn gooda me to-"
Sam didn't think he'd ever seen Dean look that murderous or unsure.
"You shut your mouth," Dean said, voice low and almost undetectably unsteady.
"Wha'd you say to me, boy?"
"I said you shut your damn mouth."
John lunged at Dean, fists flying.
Sam hadn't seen that coming, and he froze up.
John was pummeling Dean, knuckles colliding with his chest and face as they tumbled to the ground. Dean was trying to block the punches, trying to fight his way free, but John was on top of him, and drunker and heavier than he was. The odds were not in his favor.
When they had still lived with John, there had been times where Dean and Dad had gotten into bad fights, and Dean would tell Sam to go get some ice or get in the Impala and listen to music as loud as he wanted. When he would come back from getting ice or finally crawled out of the car, Dean would sport a new bruise, or a split on his lip, and give Sam the excuse that he had fallen and hit himself. Sam hadn't questioned it until they were older, and he realized that they hadn't been from tripping over a rug or running into a doorknob, but from John. That Dean had sent him out of the room so he wouldn't get hurt.
This was what happened when Dean sent him out of the room.
John was shouting.
"Ya ungrateful bitch, stealing from me, disrespectin' your mother! Disrespectin' me! You're a thief, a whore, anda fa-"
Sam unfroze.
"Get off him! Stop!"
He tried pulling John away from Dean, earning only a hard hit to his chin that left him staggering away. It was no use, he couldn't pull John off. He had to do something, though- there was blood on John's fists and on Dean's face and chest, then a sickening crack that came from somewhere below John and Dean groaned in pain, and-
"Chu screwed with everything! Took Sammy from me, took Mary from me, ruined itall and yeh don't even have the shameteh try an' repay-"
Sam grabbed Dean's half empty beer bottle from off the counter and hit John over the head with it.
John collapsed to the side, beer raining down on him and Dean.
"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"
Dean's breathing was heavy. There were gashes all over his face. Bruises were beginning to form.
"Hurts like a-" Dean winced and stifled a gasp of pain "-bitch. Not feeling too…." He trailed off, and his eyes grew unfocused.
"Dean? Dean!"
Fuck, why hadn't he done something sooner? Why hadn't he done something sooner instead of frozen while John pulverized Dean and spewed crap?
"Ya ungrateful bitch, stealing from me, disrespectin' your mother! Disrespectin' me! You're a thief, a whore, anda fa-"
Why?
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?
If it weren't for him, Dean would be fine and he wouldn't be sitting in a room that reeked of antiseptic and praying that Dean would wake up. Praying that the heart monitor wouldn't go off and send doctors rushing in with defibrillators and clipboards-
Sam closed his eyes tightly.
Don't think like that, he's going to be fine. He's going to be fine. He's got to be fine.
At sixteen hours and twenty four minutes, the police showed up. Jody Mills was a welcome distraction from repeating the words "he's going to make it" in his head like a broken record. Even if it meant reliving what had happened.
"I know you told us what happened when the ambulance showed up," she said, "but I'm going to have to ask that you tell me again, with all the details you can remember. Can you do that?"
Sam nodded hollowly.
"Alright. Start from the beginning. What were you doing before John Winchester came to your apartment?"
He told her, starting with Dr. Sexy and plane tickets to the knock at the door, then John appearing drunk as hell demanding compensation for clothing and feeding them, for putting up with Dean's "hobbies with them boys," whatever than meant. Dean getting aggressive and refusing to pay him. John getting angry. Him knocking Dean to the ground and striking him with punch after punch until Sam knocked him out. Dean falling unconscious and Sam calling an ambulance.
When the nightmare had been relayed, Jody jotted some things down on a notepad. "That's all we'll need for now. Someone will call if we need more information." She rose from the chair she had been occupying, then added much less businesslike, "You should get some sleep."
Sam shook his head wearily. "I need to be here when he wakes up."
"If he wakes up while you're gone, he'll get it. I'm sure he would want you to take care of yourself." She paused before leaving. "Just think about it, alright?"
Sam didn't even entertain the idea. He had to be there. He owed Dean that much.
He didn't sleep until he had been sitting there for twenty eight hours and three minutes, when he dozed off into a fitful nightmare.
It was better than the one he was currently trapped in.