John would have kicked his own ass, if he could, letting that damn beast get the drop on him. As it was he could barely breathe without feeling a stabbing pain rip through him because of the torn muscle in his chest. He was thankful the claws hadn't made it through to their intended goal of ripping out his heart, but the pain of tear, combined with his dislocated shoulder, made it hard to remember that.
John was more than thankful, however, that this had not been a solo hunt. After the beast mauled him he was able to get in a good deep stab to its underbelly then Dean finished it off from behind with the oak branch dipped in lamb's blood.
John smiled a bit to himself through his grimace of pain as he remembered Dean's field medic skills. The boy was fast and thorough resetting his dislocated shoulder. The worst of his bleeding had clotted before the beast next to them had even gone cold.
After returning to the motel his two youngest sons took in the sight of John's injuries. John was happy to let middle son, Sam, handle the more delicate work of the numerous stitches the slice in his chest would require. Sam didn't love it, but he was steady and methodical, able to detach himself from both patient and pain, in a way that his older brother had never been able to. Youngest son, Adam simply watched quietly from his station on one of the motel beds, while John drank himself calm and Sam silently sewed.
John knew that Adam had once had ambitions to be a doctor; Kate had been a nurse before she passed, and several times during their yearly meetings Adam had mentioned the prospect. Through the increasingly dense fog of the whiskey John wondered what Adam thought to the Winchester brand of medicine. No doubt this was the first time he'd ever witnessed a man having his chest sewn back together by a 16 year-old wielding nothing but a needle, pen knife and dental floss.
As John gritted his teeth through what felt like a particularly painful stab of Sam's needle, he stole a glance at Adam. The 12 year-old was watching intently, eyes darting from Sam's needle to John's face and back again. John had half expected the kid to be a little green around the gills seeing the blood and half of his old-man muscle hanging off his chest, but if anything he looked excited. John made a mental note to have Sam start field medic training with Adam as soon as possible. If he had half the talent Sam did, and any actual desire (something Sam did not), Adam could be a priceless tool in the Winchester hunter's army. Maybe his skills could come in handy bartering with other hunters, John thought.
After being given the all clear by his sullen 16 year-old nurse, John very gingerly shrugged on a clean flannel shirt and poured another glass of whiskey to numb the pain. He rolled the glass around in his hand, watching the liquid slowly sloshing around the cup, his back to his three sons. He couldn't face them. Not now. Not with the embarrassment of 38 stitches across his chest. He felt the heat of it on his face. He should have been watching. He shouldn't have been distracted by the girl's screaming. Of course she was going to scream. She was probably due a lifetime of therapy after watching her boyfriend mutate into an 8-foot tall, hairy, clawed beast.
John mentally kicked himself again. How many times had he told the boys, yelled at them, "Focus! Any distraction could get you killed!" And here he was brought down by a screaming girl. John felt his jaw clench tightly as the tide of his embarrassment ebbed and rose again in anger. He hated so many things about himself, this was just another to add to the list. Another time when he WASN'T. He wasn't fast enough, focused enough, or smart enough.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and instead stifled a gasp at the sharp, blinding pain it caused when at the same time behind him he distantly heard, "Dad? Are we getting dinner soon?" in Adam's soft tone.
Through a haze of whiskey and pain, he couldn't stop the rage the reared up, pure annoyance that any of the boys would talk to him right now.
"What?" John answered through gritted teeth, turning around slowly, his chest wound and shoulder throbbing in time to his own heartbeat.
"Are we gonna get dinner? There not much left here," Adam trailed off, suddenly taking note of his John's clenched jaw and rigid stance.
The pain affected John more than he would ever admit, making him blind with anger. His free hand twitched at his side unconsciously. Before he could reach out to backhand the boy Dean swung in from behind Adam, grabbing him by the shoulders and hustling him out the door of the room, hollering for Sam and mentioning something about leftovers to John.
John looked down at the tumbler of whiskey still in his hand as he clearly heard Dean admonish Adam outside, "Come on man! Read the room! You almost got your ass kicked back there." The room door then clicked closed, muffling the conversation.
Hearing the concern in his oldest's voice bled all the rage from John's heart leaving only the open ache of his new stitches. He really had almost hit his youngest son just for asking about dinner. John swallowed the shame of the realization, putting a hand up to cover his eyes. He hated himself again, more even than before.
Author's Note- Special thanks to my friend lunaslushie for the Beta read!
Disclaimer- I don't own Supernatural. ( duh.)