Two days passed with Dean more in bed than out. John was worried Dean was sick at first, because it was not like Dean to spend all day in bed. John finally got his way and checked for fever, but Dean's temperature was fine. Just run ragged, apparently, from a hunt gone bad that he refused to talk about.
Before Sam left, Dean would never have hidden the details of a hunt from his father. It seemed like the cracks from that night were spreading into all aspects of Winchester life, sinister and disquieting.
If John didn't know any better, he might say Dean was acting depressed. Sam wasn't with them anymore, so maybe Dean was a little depressed. They were a man down, three reduced to two. That would take time to get used to.
On the second night, John woke from a nightmare of Sam being attacked in the university library by a Shtriga and having only a thesaurus to try to beat it back when he looked at the bed besides his and found it empty.
On reflex, John got out of bed and went to the window to check the car. Dean wouldn't go anywhere without his baby, so if the Impala was in the lot it meant Dean wasn't far.
And indeed he wasn't. Dean was lying on the hood of the Impala, reclined against the windshield.
John opened the motel room door and silently approached his son.
Dean's eyes were closed, but it wasn't quite the repose of sleep. He looked reflective, passive, just existing and letting that be enough. It wasn't a look he'd ever really seen on Dean before, not without his baby brother tucked up under his arm and against his side.
John wondered if Sam realized he'd carved the heart out of the family when he left. Dean really shined as the caretaker, but there was no one left to care for.
"Dean?" John said softly.
Dean, proof that he had been awake the whole time, slowly opened his eyes and looked over at his father.
John stepped closer to his son and regarded him in the light of the half moon.
He understood something clearly in that moment. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?"
"No."
John frowned. He didn't care for that at all. His boys didn't keep secrets from him.
Except Sam had – he kept secret his efforts to get into college. And now Dean had this one. But John wouldn't make this secret the breaking point, the way Sam's had become. His oldest son was finally back with him, and John wouldn't risk that on a secret.
If the cost of having Dean back was letting Dean have this one secret, John could live with that. The Winchester family was in a strange place, where everything (even the things John used to trust in unfailingly) seemed fragile. Right now, even his relationship with Dean seemed to be teetering on the edge of something.
To save it, John would go against his instincts, this time, and back off.
"You going to be okay, kiddo?"
Dean seemed to give that some thought. It made John nervous that Dean would have to think.
"I'll be fine," he finally answered.
John smirked. Never mind that Dean said he was 'fine' when he was bleeding profusely, limping along with broken bones, so concussed John kept having to remind Dean that Sammy was okay (because Dean with a concussion was a Dean who became ridiculously, constantly worried if Sam was all right, even if the younger brother hadn't even been on that particular hunt with them). Dean's version of 'fine' had a broad definition and was often very far from fine.
But John had to pick his battles, and after Sam running away, John was gun-shy about fighting with his children. He didn't really know what he'd do if he didn't have Dean. "What are you doing out here?"
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Got my fill of sleep, I guess. Woke up and needed to be outside."
John found that puzzling. Dean was not a claustrophobic person, nor had he ever been one particularly fond of nature. But as John looked down at his son, he couldn't deny that Dean looked better now than he had the two days he spent cooped up in the room. Calmer. More peaceful.
"… beautiful," Dean muttered absently, and John realized he'd missed what Dean was talking about.
"What's beautiful?"
Dean nodded his chin toward the stars. "Skye."
John looked up at the heavens. "Uh, yeah… I guess." John started to wonder what time it was. "It's the middle of the night; you coming back inside, son?"
"Five more minutes?" Dean pleaded, a hint of playful in his voice.
And for the first time in months, John laughed, reminded of the old days when seven-year-old Dean wanted to stay up late to watch television on a school night.
It was just damn good to hear mirth and playfulness creeping into Dean's voice again.
John was relieved to know that while he may have lost one son, he still had Dean.
"Don't stay out here too long," John finally said and he turned back toward the motel room, "it's damn cold out here."
Dean grunted.
John paused before going back inside to look back at Dean. Dean had closed his eyes again, soaking in the night.
Maybe it was because Dean's eyes were closed that John mustered the courage to give into the passing and 'touchy feely' thought that popped into the forefront of his mind. "I'm glad you came back," John said lowly.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at John. They both knew Sam was thick between them, the thing they wouldn't say even though it was right there.
Dean finally said, "I was always coming back, Dad."
John smiled and went back inside before he got all mushy and chick-flick on Dean.
Tomorrow, they'd start learning how the Winchesters hunted as a two-man team.
END