Raising Winchesters

Chapter 22

In the days following the bird incident, both Bobby and John couldn't help but notice that Dean was not acting like himself. Usually, Dean was a hard boy to keep still, even when he was sick or injured, but the past few days had been spent with him either sitting in a chair, staring out a window wherever his dad was, or sleeping, curled up next to his brother. John insisted that both Sam and Dean be with either him or Bobby at all times and it was starting to get a little rough on all of them.

Sam was tired of staying inside all day long and he was tired of Dean barely speaking to him. And when Sam was tired of something, he made sure everyone knew about it. Bobby and John were both tired of listening to Sam trying to convince Dean to play with him and then they were tired of Sam's whining when Dean seemingly ignored his brother.

Dean was just tired.

No matter what he did- whether it was trying to sleep, trying to eat, trying to watch television, or trying to pay attention to his brother- Dean's mind constantly returned to the incident with the bird in their bedroom. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that kept washing over him every time he thought about the bird at the window and it chilled him completely to the bone.

Bobby and John would often notice the boy shivering as if it was cold. They would watch as Dean bundled up in blankets, already wearing layer upon layer of clothing. Sometimes they could hear his teeth chattering.

Bobby was concerned with the fact that Dean barely ate or drank anything, picking at whatever food was placed in front of him and taking only a few small sips from the juice or water he was handed. John wasn't as concerned about the boy not eating or drinking until Dr. Hanley, who had come by for a check-up, brought up the idea of reinserting the IV to give Dean fluids. Once that happened, John resorted to a lot of yelling at his son and eventually to threatening to spank him if he didn't start eating and drinking.

Dean reluctantly obeyed his father, albeit at a much slower rate than any of the adults wanted. Dr. Hanley was satisfied with his current efforts, though, and thought that Dean's appetite would return in time. Bobby and John weren't convinced, but they decided to give the doctor the benefit of the doubt.

Nights were spent with Dean waking up multiple times from nightmares and night terrors. John remembered how the boy had gone through a phase of night terrors in the months following Sam's birth, but he had eventually grown out of them. They had been terrifying for both Mary and John, too, as they watched Dean screaming and crying at whatever he was seeing in his half-awake state. John would need a few shots of whiskey afterwards to calm himself down and Mary would have to lay down in Dean's bed, running her fingers through his hair as he fell back to sleep.

Now, it was a lot harder, though. Mary wasn't there for Dean in the aftermath of this current nightmare, and John wasn't able to turn to the whiskey bottle as much as he wanted to, since he needed to stay alert to keep his boys safe. That left Bobby to pick up the pieces and he wasn't sure he was up to the task.

With everything that was going on with Dean, Sam was often unintentionally pushed to the side. Not that Bobby and John didn't make sure that his physical needs were being met, but they definitely weren't attending to the fear and uncertainty that permeated his small body.

Sam wasn't used to seeing his brother in such a state and it was more than he could handle at his young age. It wasn't long before he was shutting down, too, and the adults suddenly found themselves with even more to deal with. With both boys waking up multiple times a night with nightmares, neither men were getting adequate sleep. Eventually, they had to start sleeping in shifts, with whoever's turn it was to sleep, heading out to the garage to bed down on a cot in the corner. That was the only way that either of them could actually sleep more than thirty minutes at a time.

It wasn't until Dean started having terrible headaches and also started talking to someone or something in his sleep that Bobby and John grew desperate. Finally, after almost a week of such chaos, Bobby made a phone call, reaching out for help from someone that he thought was better equipped to handle what was happening. Luckily for all involved, Pastor Jim was available and eager to do what he could to help.

When Jim Murphy arrived at Bobby's, he was completely taken aback by the scene in front of him. While Bobby was by no means a good housekeeper, the house was in such a state of chaos and disarray that he questioned whether or not he was even in the right place. There were dirty dishes everywhere and if Jim's nose was telling the truth, most of the dishes must have had leftover food on them.

The curtains were all closed up tight and there was a general sense of sickness…. or despair, maybe, permeating the house. Whatever it was, Jim itched to throw open the windows and air out the house immediately. He refrained from doing that, though, because his attention was quickly diverted to the sound of an angry John Winchester coming from the kitchen.

"That's it, Dean! I've had it with you, boy! You better start eating right now or I'm going to feed you myself."

"John…." Bobby tried to interfere for Dean's sake, but John wasn't about to be deterred from his mission of getting his son to eat.

"Stay out of this, Singer."

"I'm not hungry, Dad," Dean answered quietly.

Jim walked into the kitchen at that moment, not surprised to find himself suddenly at the end of Bobby's shotgun and John's Colt. "Hey," he said as he threw his hands up in the air. "It's just me. How in the world did you guys not hear me before now?!"

John kept his gun trained on Jim while Bobby drew out his flask and tossed holy water in Jim's face. After also testing him with silver and finding that he proved to be himself, John lowered his gun and stepped forward to shake Jim's hand.

"It's good to see you, Jim. What are you doing here?"

Jim shared a look with Bobby who gave him a small smirk. "Got a call from Bobby. Said you boys were in a bit of a pickle and could use some help." Jim made his way over to the table and greeted the boys. "Hey, Sam. Hey, Dean."

"Pastor Jim!" Sam jumped up and straight into Jim's arms. Jim nearly dropped the boy before firming up his grasp on the small body.

"You've grown, young man," he said with a laugh. "You're gonna be as big as your brother, if you don't slow down."

Sam looked over at Dean before leaning forward and whispering loudly in Jim's ear. "Uncle Bobby says we're not supposed to talk about that. It makes Dean mad."

"Oh. Okay, then." Jim turned to Dean, who hadn't yet said a word or even looked up at him. "How are you doing, Dean?"

"I'm okay," Dean nearly whispered.

Jim shared a look with both Bobby and John, obviously surprised by what he was seeing. After a few seconds, he put Sam down and suggested that Sam and Dean go into the living room to watch television.

"We can't, Pastor Jim. Daddy says that we have to stay with him or Uncle Bobby all the time."

"It's okay, Sam. You'll just be in the living room and we can see you from here."

John started to argue, but Jim stopped him. "It's okay, John."

Relieved at not being made to eat, Dean stood up and grabbed Sam's arm. "Let's go, Sammy."

Once they were out of the kitchen, and once the three men were satisfied that they could see both boys, Jim turned to John and Bobby. "Okay, what's going on here? Dean looks awful and I can tell that both of you are completely on edge."

Bobby and John took turns explaining recent events to Jim, who listened without interrupting. He was growing more and more concerned with each passing second and by the time they were done explaining, he found himself completely on edge, too.

"So, you're sure it's one of these Nagual things?"

"We're reasonably sure. The lore is pretty limited on these things. And no hunter we know has ever actually come up against one. We're flying blind here, Jim."

"Do you have anyone else working on this with you?"

"We've talked to a few other hunters and they're looking into it, too. Caleb and Bill Harvelle are working on something, but we haven't heard from them in a few days."

"What about Dean? What's going on with him? He looks awful and Sam doesn't look much better."

"Well, neither one of them are sleeping good. And Dean barely eats or drinks anything without being threatened. He's been having headaches and nightmares, and a few nights ago he started talking to someone or something in his sleep. He was saying weird things." John reached into the cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey. Jim and Bobby watched as he put the bottle to his lips and downed several swallows. When he started to drink even more, Jim reached out and took the bottle from him.

"C'mon, John. That's not helping."

"What do you know about it, Murphy? He's wasting away before my eyes." John growled as he grabbed for the bottle. Jim just held it out of his reach. John started towards Jim, but quickly stopped, his anger deflating like a punctured balloon. Jim didn't think he'd ever seen the man look so defeated and that was saying a lot.

"John, we'll get to the bottom of this. We always do."

"Do we? Because I'm not so sure about that, Jim. I've been hunting the thing that killed Mary for almost eight years and I'm no closer than the day I started. And now this…."

"We'll figure it out."

When John reached for the bottle that Jim had placed on the table, no one stopped him.

Dean and Sam were sitting side by side on the lumpy couch, both staring at the small television. Dean really wasn't paying any attention to the cartoon they were watching, but he could occasionally hear Sam laugh at something. Instead, Dean's attention was on the pain that was about to split his head open and on the incessant buzzing that filled his head.

He hadn't told anyone about the buzzing that had started with the headaches. He hadn't told anyone about the voices he was hearing, either. He wanted to, but there was a part of him that knew he would break if he had to admit out loud what the voices were saying.

Because what they were saying was awful. What they were saying was scary. But, most of all, he didn't want to admit out loud that what they were saying was true.

There was a part of him- somewhere deep, deep down inside of him- that knew that what the voices were saying wasn't really true. But that part of him was so deep that it was buried. It was so deep that he couldn't hold onto it. It was so deep that he couldn't really believe that it even existed. So, therefore, what the voices were saying had to be true, right?

With his head pounding forcefully with each and every beat of his heart, Dean suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. He also felt an insane desire to get out of the house. He needed to be outside of the four walls and roof that were suffocating him. He needed air and openness and freedom. He needed to be liberated from the oppressive protection of his dad and Bobby, of Jim and even Sammy. He needed to be alone.

But, he was scared to be alone. He was so, so scared to be alone.

As he sat on the couch, desperately trying to not lose control, he heard the voices calling out to him. Sometimes, there was only one voice. Sometimes, there were two or three. This time it sounded like there was a whole group of voices, each one calling his name, each one calling for him to come outside. He tried to ignore them, at first. And he did. Until they started whispering to him about his brother.

At first, they were just whispering Sam's name over and over again. Dean looked over at his brother to see if he was hearing them, but Sam's eyes never left the television. He looked over to the kitchen, wondering if his dad or Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim were hearing anything, but they were still talking to each other, not bothered by whatever was happening outside of the kitchen.

Eventually, the voices started talking to Dean again, telling him awful things about how they were going to hurt Sam if he didn't do what they said. They talked about how they would steal Sam away and how he'd never see his little brother again. And they talked about how his dad would hate him afterwards for not watching out for Sammy.

Suddenly, Dean couldn't take it anymore. He knew, deep down inside, that if he didn't get out of the house at that exact moment, he'd die. He couldn't breathe and his lungs were desperate for air. So, without a single second of hesitation, he stood up and ran for the door.

John, Bobby, and Jim were now all seated around the table. John had taken a few more sips of whiskey and then turned the bottle over to Bobby, who took a quick swig and then put the bottle away. John was facing the door to the living room and his eyes barely left the sight of his sons sitting on the couch. He could tell that Sam was completely engrossed in whatever they were watching, but that Dean's mind was focused on something else. As he watched his boys, John listened to what Bobby and Jim were saying as they tried to hash out a tentative plan for going forward with the hunt.

They had just finished discussing sending someone to New Orleans to talk with a hoodoo specialist they'd heard of when it happened. Once second, Dean was sitting on the couch, staring at the television, the next second, he had jumped up and was running to the door.

It took John a second or two to realize what was happening, but when he did, he jumped up, grabbed his gun that had been sitting on the table in front of him, and ran after his son. Thanks to the hunter instincts that were ingrained in them, Bobby and Jim didn't hesitate to follow.

"Stay with Sam," John bellowed as he followed Dean. Jim veered off into the living room, grabbing Sam and clutching him tightly to his chest. Bobby followed John.

By the time they got to the door, Dean was already standing on the porch. John ran to his side, immediately lifting him up to his chest as he stared out into the yard. "What the hell is going on?" he asked as he looked around. "Bobby, what the hell is going on?"

Bobby, who by that time was standing next to him on the porch, looked around his yard, too. It didn't take him more than half a second to realize that they were in trouble. "Back inside, John," he said as he pulled on John's arm. "Now!"

Author's note: I'm an awful person, aren't I? First, I take forever in updating and then I leave you all with this little cliffhanger. Sheesh! It's a miracle any of you are still reading this story.

Anyway, I'm really sorry for the wait. I just threw a huge party for my birthday (I know that sounds weird, but it was my 50th and my family helped me) so I've been really, really busy. The party was amazing, though.

But, hopefully now I can get back to writing on a schedule. Thanks to you all for sticking around. I truly appreciate the reads and reviews, just so you know. And I'd love to hear your thoughts on this little doozy of a chapter. It's short, but I think (hope) it packs a punch.