1Love and Communication
By decembrist (the writer formerly known as podpod)
Rated T for language and a bit of blood.
Disclaimer: Anything involving Supernatural does not belong to me. Even the title of this fic doesn't belong to me. I stole it from a lovely Cat Power song. The song actually has nothing to do with the story - I just liked the title.
Summary: "Your dad? He's in here with me, trapped inside his own meat suit." John POV. Major spoilers for "The Devil's Trap".
A/N: So, I've read a couple of lovely missing scenes for "The Devil's Trap" from Sam's POV, and I decided to give John a whirl. I can't stand John - I just don't like his character. But I needed to reach some sort of understanding with him, because he was a big fat jerk at the end of the episode. I know that this particular topic will probably be tackled by other writers far more eloquent and insightful than I, but I decided to toss this into the pile anyway. If it goes over okay, I might do one from Dean's POV as well. Or, I might just get sick of the gloom and doom and write something more lighthearted, because we all know gloom and doom is not conducive to lovely Dean-snark.
Also, for most of the story, italics denote conversation taken from the episode. It changes towards the end, but I think it should be clear. Thanks for reading!
"Time to wake up, John. Wake up."
John Winchester jerked to consciousness. "What..." He lay motionless, trying to calm his racing heart. Staring up into the darkness, he tried to gain his bearings and clear the last vestiges of confusion from his mind. "Dean? Is that you?"
"Do you really think Dean would ever call you 'John'? It's always 'Dad', or 'sir'. 'Yes, sir. No sir.' You taught the lackey well." The words melted into derisive laughter, and that was when John realized that the voice he was hearing was coming from inside his own head. Oh shit. He tried to get up, tried to work his throat and call out to his boys to warn them, but his body betrayed him and refused to answer his commands. John had never been claustrophobic, but suddenly the knowledge that he was unwillingly trapped and pinned inside his own body caught him on the verge of panic. Shit, shit shit.
"You're a control freak, you know that?" In his mind's eye, John could see darkness coalescing into an amorphous shadow. Glowing yellow eyes stared malevolently at him. "I didn't expect it to be so easy, taking over your body. Guess you're not in as much control as you thought."
"You son of a bitch," John growled. "You think this changes anything?"
"Oh, I think it does. It's hard to kill something when it's a part of you, isn't it?"
John pushed back his panic, focusing on the cold rage he had carried around with him since the night of his wife's death. "Not for me, it ain't." To John, there was no question about it. The demon was within his grasp, and it was going to die. Period. He had given up too much, carried revenge around with him for too long to let something like possession stop him. "I'm going to fucking kill you. You hear me? You're going to die!"
Waves of malicious triumph rolled off the shadow in waves. "I don't think so. As far as I'm concerned, I'm the hunter now, John. And you, your little boys, they're my prey." Then, without his permission, John's body jerked upright and then lifted itself off the makeshift cot. The blanket that had been carefully draped over him slid to the floor. John vaguely remembered Dean gently covering him with the ratty cloth, trying to make sure that he would be as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
"Yes, your boy's quite the caretaker, isn't he? Such a reliable man. So dependable. It would be a shame for your family to lose such a steady presence."
"Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare lay a hand on my boys." John raged against the unwilling cage his own body had become, beating imaginary fists against the space of his mind. "Don't you dare!"
The demon laughed at him, fueling John's anger. "Or you'll what?" The demon laughed again, mocking John's wrath. "Oh, wouldn't it be a shame, if after all these years of hunting me, of dedicating your life to revenge, of ruining your children's lives - wouldn't it be a shame if you failed?" The shadow wrapped itself around John's image of himself, effectively binding him and rendering him motionless. "Wouldn't it be a shame if after all that effort, you had to watch what's left of your pathetic family die because of your failure?" John flinched as the demon caressed his face. He had expected the touch of a hellish creature to be fiery hot, but instead, he found it burning cold. "Sam, I have plans for already. But he's only a small part of the picture. Dean, however..." The demon smiled icily. "I'm going to have such fun with him. Shall we?"
John's bruised body lurched forward a step, and by the time he reached the doorway of the dilapidated cabin, the demon had him walking smoothly, as if John himself were in control. From where they stood, John could hear his two sons talking.
"For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just...it scares me sometimes."
"Tsk tsk, John. Guess you didn't train him as well as you thought."
"Fuck you." John understood Dean's fear and at the same time, it shamed him. Dean's ruthlessness was born out of love, but also a sense of duty - John had made sure it would be that way. His own was born out of hate.
"It shouldn't. You did good," John heard himself say.
A look of faint surprise crossed Dean's face. "You're not mad?"
"For what?"
"Used a bullet."
"I'm proud of you. Sam and I," John's eyes glanced at his younger son, "we can get pretty obsessed. But you, you always watch out for this family. You always have."
"Damn you!" John shouted inside his own head. He watched Dean glance around uncomfortably, uncertain of how to handle the unexpected praise being thrown his way. John hated that the demon had stolen that moment from him. He had been hoarding those words for years now, never sure of when he should let them be known to his eldest son. Soon, he had always told himself. I'll let him know when he's older. I'll let him know after we're done with this hunt. I'll let him know when the demon is dead. John had feared that praise would make Dean weak and complacent, and he couldn't afford that, so he had always held off. And then, as time trickled by, he just forgot. Dean's steadiness was so constant that it was easy to take it for granted, easy to forget that he was asking his sons to do extraordinary things. And now, the moment he had been holding onto would forever be tainted by the demon's words. Dean gave John's figure a ghost of a smile.
"Thanks."
"Looks like this dog isn't used to Daddy throwing him any bones, John. Although, I can see why you didn't. He's not too bright, is he? Can't even tell when his own father's been possessed. That should make things a lot easier."
"Shut up," John ground out. "Dean took those other sons-of-bitches demons down, he'll take you down."
A flash of lightening rage passed through John's vision. "We'll see about that," the demon snarled. "Are you a biblical sort of man, John? Do you believe in an eye for an eye? Because me, I do. You kill my children, and I kill yours."
John snorted. "You didn't have children. You had disgusting spawn that you used for your own purposes."
"Really? And what did you do, John? Don't give me any bullshit about love and protection. We both know it's not true."
John wanted to protest but he felt the demon reach out with its power, causing the lights in the cabin to flicker. "It's found us, it's here," he heard himself say. The demon sent Sam away, ordering him to check on the lines of salt drawn in front of every possible entrance. It's too late, Sammy, John wanted to tell his youngest. The enemy's already inside. The demon turned its attention back to Dean.
"You have the gun?"
"Yeah." Dean jumped to attention and pulled the Colt out of his waistband.
"No! Dean, don't do it! Don't give me the gun! Open your eyes, son. Come on!" John could hear his shouts echoing in his own head, bouncing around inside skull with no way out. But by some miracle, it appeared that Dean had heard his silent orders. His son slowly backed away from him, his expression suspicious. The demon possessing John growled.
"He'd be furious."
John instantly knew what Dean was talking about. "What?"
"That I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me. He'd tear me a new one." Dean slowly raised the Colt and pointed it straight at John's head. "You're not my dad."
"Looks like your boy isn't as dumb as I thought," the demon observed. In a twisted way, John was proud of Dean. Proud for recognizing that John wasn't himself, proud of Dean's awareness that he had made a mistake in using the bullet. "Although the same can't be said of his old man."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
The demon smiled coldly at him. "Your precious son doesn't think he wasted that bullet at all. If he had to do it all over, he would. He'd have used every single bullet if it meant saving his brother. Or you. Your ridiculous crusade doesn't mean a fraction of what your pathetic little family means to him."
John watched as his younger son ran up to them, his eyes jumping back and forth between his father and brother as they stood locked in a standoff. "Dean, what the hell is going on?"
"He's not dad."
"Sad, isn't it? The only reason why he knew you weren't yourself is because you weren't acting like a bastard. All you do is tear your sons down, John. You rip them apart if they get in your way and them you leave them alone to scrape themselves back together. I guess we're not so different, are we?" The demon chuckled gleefully.
"That's not true," John protested vehemently. He called on the self-righteous anger that was always simmering close to the surface to give his words conviction. "You, you're an evil piece of shit. You kill innocent people, you rip families apart. You killed my wife, you son of a bitch, and you're going to die for it!" It was a mantra he had repeated to himself constantly over the years. It had kept him going when all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and drown himself in alcohol, when the innocent faces of his young sons had made him want to scratch his eyes out. John watched as Sam sided with his brother's conviction and denied the demon's false pleas. He convinced himself that the sudden ache in his heart was pride. He had done right by his sons. When he was gone, they'd have each
other. He had planned it that way.
"Fine." John felt his head nod. "You're both so sure, go ahead. Kill me."
John felt a surge of something he thought was hope. "Shoot me! Dean, shoot me! Do it!" He raged at the invisible gag keeping him silent. "Kill me!"
The demon roared with laughter. "You're pathetic, John Winchester. Didn't you hear a word I said? While I have this body, I'm in the safest place I could possibly be. Especially if Dean is on the other end of that fucking gun." Even as the demon spoke, he could see his eldest son lose resolve and saw the gun waver. "I thought so." John could feel the demon coiling, gathering its power. "Time to play."
The demon lashed out with just a small fraction of its strength and John watched as both Dean and Sam went flying. "No. Goddammit, no," he whispered.
"Oh yes," the demon answered. "You thought losing your wife was hard? Wait 'till you find out what losing a child feels like. Sam is mine to keep. But Dean? He's mine to destroy. But first - " The demon bent over and picked the Colt up. "What a pain the ass this thing's been."
"It's you, isn't it? We've been looking for you for a long time."
"You've found me."
"But the holy water..."
"You think something like that works on something like me?" The demon was honestly amused. "I would have thought you'd prepare your boys better, John. A little sprinkle of holy water? I'm insulted."
"I'm going to kill you." Sam echoed his father's thoughts.
"Oh, that'd be a neat trick." The demon walked over a table and placed the gun on it. "Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy." It smirked, mocking Sam and John.
"Now this is fun." The demon walked over to the window, peering out into the woods. "I could have killed you a hundred times today, but this - this is worth the wait." The demon glanced at Dean. "Your dad? He's in here with me, trapped inside his own meat suit. He says hi, by the way. He's going to tear you apart. He's going to taste the iron in your blood."
"Don't! Don't listen to him, Dean. You can't do this! You can't!" John began to struggle, pitting his will against the demon's. The angrier he got, however, the harder the fight became.
"Oh, but I can, and I will. Dean's become quite the problem, you know that? I'm sure you don't. I'm going to kill your boy, and I'm going to do it slow and painful. He's going to die with the image of his murdering father burned into his brain."
"Why?"
"Why? Because I can, that's why. Because you and your pitiful crusade have made life uncomfortable for me. You and you boys keep getting in my way, John. That's why."
"Let him go, or I swear to God - "
"What? What are you and God going to do about it? See, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice." The demon walked John's body over to where Dean was pinned to the wall. "Know that little exorcism of yours? That was my
daughter. The one in the alley? That was my boy. Y'understand?"
"You gotta be kidding me."
"What? You think you're the only one that can have a family? How would you feel if I killed your family? Oh, that's right. I already did. Still, two wrongs don't make a right."
"You son of a bitch." John could see the rage trembling beneath his eldest son's furious mask, and his own wrath responded. "I'm going to kill you. I swear to God, I'm going to kill you."
"That's getting boring, John. As far as I'm concerned, the only person that's going to be doing any killing tonight is me. And what is it with you and calling on God? Do you honestly think he cares about you? Because he doesn't. You're on your own."
"I wanna know why. Why'd you do it?" The demon's attention turned to Sam.
"You mean, why'd I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?"
"Yeah."
The demon turned back to Dean. "You know, I never told you this, but Sam was going to ask her to marry him. Had been shopping for rings and everything." And he wasn't planning on telling you about it. The unspoken phrase hung heavily in the air. John could see the slightest twitch in Dean's face, knowing that he understood. The demon walked over to Sam. "You wanna know why? Because they got in the way."
"In the way of what?"
"My plans for you, Sammy. You, and all the children like you."
"Listen," Dean interrupted. "How 'bout gettin' this over with, because I really can't stand the monologuing."
"Funny! But that's all part of your M.O., isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."
"Oh yeah? And what's that?"
"Listen up, John, and you may learn a thing or two about your own kids. Do you know how lost your son is? Do you even know how hard it is for him to keep everything and everyone together? I'm sure you don't. You've always been too wrapped up in your own pain. Nothing was ever as important to you as yourself. What would Mary say, John? She'd be so disappointed."
"You leave Mary out of this!" John tried to shake his head. "Dean is fine. You don't know anything, you piece of shit. It's not true!"
"Oh, but it is."
"You know, you fight, and you fight for this family. But the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them."
"Dean, don't you listen to him! Don't you listen to what this bastard is telling you! It's not true!"
"Isn't it though?" The demon addressed John. "You need Dean because he's your faithful soldier. What else do you need him for? How can Dean ever win the fight for your attention when he's competing against the ghost of his own dead mother? You'd sacrifice him before you'd ever sacrifice your vengeance for Mary."
"No. No, that's not true," John whispered.
"Tell yourself what you want, John. You went off track a long time ago, but if it helps you sleep at night, then please, keep lying to yourself."
"Sam? He's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."
John saw the crack in Dean's mask, that tough, nearly impenetrable mask that he himself had forced onto his son. He could see each word hit home and he watched Dean struggle to swallow the words being fed to him without choking.
"Stop it. Enough. Just stop!"
"Why stop now, John? Aren't you happy to have a chance to get all this out in the open? Doesn't it feel good to let Dean know how you really feel about him?"
"No! You don't think I know what you're doing? You fucking LIAR!" John loved his sons, loved them both. It was just... John's mark was heavily stamped on Sam. From the dark eyes, the dark hair, right down to the stubborn bullheadedness and the single-track mind. It was all John and frankly, it drove him nuts. But he could live with it. Dean though - Dean was clearly Mary's son. The light eyes, the smile, the ferocious protectiveness - it was all Mary. Sometimes Dean's presence was such a powerful reminder of his lost wife that it would catch John off guard and make him harsh with pain. He knew that he had been hard on his son, and was still hard on him. It was for his own good, though, as well as Sam's. John did everything he did because he loved them. He loved his children. He couldn't think of it any other way.
"Oh, poor John. You think you love your sons. But do they know that? Even after all this, Dean would soldier on for you because he doesn't know anything else. He tells himself that you love him and Sam. He clings to that thought. But in the end, it doesn't matter whether it's true or not - you and Sammy-boy over there are all he has in this world. He'll forgive you anything, you know that? Even his own death. He'll forgive you that too. That brick wall you've forced on your son? The one you made him put up because you couldn't deal with all the goddamn pain he caused you? Because of his resemblance to Mary? He may think he's a tough guy, and you may think he's a tough guy, but he's soft as jelly when it comes to you and Sam."
"Yeah, I bet you're real proud of your kids too. Oh wait. I forgot. I wasted 'em." Dean looked straight into the demon's eyes and gave a mirthless little smirk. John could see that Dean had absorbed the cruel words the demon had thrown at him and pushed them aside. That's it, John thought. That's my boy. Just hang on. Fight him, Dean.
At the mention of the demon's dead children, despite the smile that John's face gave Dean, the demon's amusement
turned into rage. Rage so strong that even John recoiled from it, backing away into the deep recesses of his mind. "Fight me, John? How's he going to fight me if he's dead?" He could feel a maelstrom of black poison whirling inside of himself, building in power so catastrophic that John was afraid his body would rip itself apart. The demon pulled back, reining in his ferocity and concentrating it back down into the shadow. John watched as an invisible tendril of black smoke, an extension of the demon itself, reached out from the tornado, out of his body and towards his helpless son. "Oh God, no. Please, no. Don't you fucking do it!" The wisp passed through Dean's chest and wrapped around his heart, where the demon just squeezed -
Dean cried out in pain and blood began to pour out of unseen wounds. The sudden flood released the heavy stench of copper into the air and John wanted to gag. Within moments, Dean's grey shirt was dyed crimson and the life-giving liquid dripped down with a steady plop plop plop. John could distinctly hear each panicked beat of Dean's heart directly in his skull, could feel its thundering rhythm reverberating in his own chest. His own heart sped up in a sympathetic response to his son's and fear expanded inside his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Dean, no!" John could hear Sam's horrified voice call out from behind him.
"No, stop! Stop it! You're killing him!"
"That's the idea."
"Dad! Dad, don't you let it kill me!"
"Dean! No!" This couldn't be happening. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He was not going to allow this fucking demon to use his body to kill his first-born.
The demon squeezed again and John could feel something in Dean give under the demon's touch. Dean screamed again, his jaw clenched with agony. He stared down at himself, a terrified expression on his face as he watched his own blood pool on the floor at an alarming rate. Lifting his head, he looked the demon right in the eye, blood now spilling out his mouth and down his chin.
"Dad. Dad, please." The simple plea struck a chord inside John that he thought was long buried. This was not going to happen. His child was not going to die tonight. "God, please. Someone help me. Please! Help me! This can't happen!" John watched as his son lost consciousness, his head lolling forward, chin coming to rest on his chest. He screamed, "No! NO!"
John had always known that there would be casualties in his war. Not just on the side of the bad guys, like the way it was in the movies. No, he knew that there would be casualties on the side of the good guys, and since the 'good guys' consisted of primarily of himself, Dean and Sam, John wanted to make damn sure that he would be the one to go down. He had planned for it, anticipated it, craved it, even. It was his right to make that choice. It wasn't that he was blind to the danger he put his sons in. But that's why he had trained them, why he couldn't afford to coddle them, why he demanded obedience. There was a reason soldiers stood out from civilians, why soldiers were the ones to fight wars. He didn't mean for it to be that way forever - just until he could put this particular demon to rest. He hadn't been lying when he had told his boys that this life wasn't what he had wanted for them. But necessity was necessity, and he couldn't do this alone. Even with all the stitches, the broken bones, the concussions, John had never seriously entertained the idea that one of his sons would die because of him. It would have broken his resolve.
But now that the possibility was literally staring him in the face, it was something he could no longer ignore. As he watched dark red liquid drip silently from Dean's lips, something in John changed. It was only for the briefest of moments, but there was a flash of something so powerful, so bright and so overwhelmingly fierce that it startled the demon, arresting its actions. John hadn't been aware that he was still capable of experiencing emotion other than the pale imitation of anger, frustration and grief, but the last bit of selflessness he had ended up being his saving grace. He felt the demon release him for the merest of seconds and that was enough.
"Stop. Stop it."
In the space of a breath, John freed Sam from the demon's hold. It would be of no use to release Dean. He could sense Sam drop from the wall behind him and instantly grab the gun. Good work, Sammy. And then with a snarl, the demon was back.
"You kill me, you kill Daddy."
Sam sneered at him. "I know." John heard an explosion and then suddenly, there was a searing pain in his right thigh and the demon inside him shrieked. He toppled to the floor and was sucked down into the darkness.
John stood over the demon, watching as the shadow diminished in size. There was an electric blue pulse crackling around the dark shape. "I told you I'd fucking kill you."
The demon cackled. "I'm not dead yet, John. You think this is the end?"
"Sam won't hesitate. He wants this as bad as I do."
"You really think so?" Despite its weakness, the shadow roared with laughter. "You really are blind, John. You don't see the things that are going on right before you. Sam isn't on your side, Johnny. He never was, and now, he never will be. He chose Dean, you stupid, stupid fool."
"It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it? You're on your own now, John, and you'll never win on your own. And the longer you keep losing your pathetic battle, the longer I'll have to tear you and your family to pieces."
"You ain't gonna bother my family ever again, you son of a bitch," John ground out. "This ends tonight, you hear me? You can keep talking, but you've lost."
"I don't think so." And with a gasp, John jerked back to consciousness.
"Sammy! It's still alive. It's inside me, I can feel it. Just shoot me. You shoot me. You shoot me in the heart son. Do it, now!"
Sam raised the Colt, pointing the weapon at his father's heart.
"Sam, don't you do it. Don't you do it." Dean's whispered command cut through the tension in the cabin. John could read the conflict on his younger son's face and desperation built inside him.
"See? I told you. You've lost control, John. Your little plan just blew up in your face, didn't it? They're not on your side anymore. And you know what that means."
"Shut up!"
"Sam, you gotta hurry. I can't hold onto it much longer. Just shoot me, son. Shoot me! Son, I'm begging you! We gotta end this here and now!"
"You're no longer the hunter, John. You're my prey now. And there's nothing you can do to stop me from destroying you. Sam is mine. He has been from the beginning. I'll come to claim him and you won't be able to prevent it. And Dean? The next time I get a hold of him, what I did to him today will seem like mercy." And then the demon showed John exactly what it was capable of as image after terrifying image flashed through his brain.
"SAMMY!" Oh God, please. John tried to force his will on Sam, tried to make him squeeze the trigger.
"Sam, no." John could clearly see that Dean's quiet words were having an infinitely greater effect on the youngest Winchester than his own screams.
"You do this! Sammy!"
But it was too late. Sam slowly lowered the gun, his face pained but resolute.
"Sam..."
"You lose, John. You lose. I'll be coming for you, Winchester. You and your boys. And when I do, you'll be joining me in hell."
"No! Goddammit, NO!" But there was nothing John could do. He screamed as the demon gave one great heave and burst out of John's body, exploding from his mouth and escaping through the floorboards. The shadow kept coming and coming and he thought it would never end, and then...
It was gone.
John gave Sam an accusing look as his face crumpled with frustration. He let his head drop to the dusty floor, struggling to keep tears back. He had been so close. So goddamn fucking close. After decades of hunting, searching, and hoping, the end had been within his grasp. But resolution had slipped through his fingers, and the bitter taste of failure welled up from his chest and choked him. He'd never been so fucking disappointed in his entire life.
"Dad? Dad, are you okay?" His youngest son's hesitant voice cut through his grief.
No, I'm not okay, John wanted to snap. You want to know why I'm not okay? Because you let me down! This was supposed to be the end, Sammy. This was it. And you let the damn thing go!
"Dad?"
"I'm fine," John ground out. "Just - "
But Sam was no longer standing over him. As soon as he heard the words he wanted to hear, Sam bounded away from his father and knelt by his brother's side.
Oh God. Dean.
John wanted to see how his eldest son was doing, but he just didn't have the strength. He just lay supine on the floor, trying to find the energy to keep the darkness at bay.
"Dean? Dean? Are you still with me?" John could hear Sam's worried voice crack. "Oh Christ. This isn't good. Dad?"
"Yeah. How's your brother doing?"
"He's unconscious. Dad, he won't stop bleeding. He's lost so much - we have to get him to help, now. And - and I don't want to hear any bullshit about hospitals." Sam's voice hardened as be barked out the last sentence. If it wasn't clear to John where Sam had stood before, it was plenty clear now. He reached up with a weary hand and rubbed at his eyes. God, he was such a failure. And his failure may just have been the death of his son.
Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. What a mess.
"Dad!" John could clearly hear the anxiety and fear in Sam's voice and it galvanized him into action.
"Get your brother up, Sam, and get him into the car. You'll have to drive." John rolled himself onto his side - the side not facing his two boys. Fire reignited in his leg as he jarred the gunshot wound and he gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up with one arm.
"Okay. Okay. Dean? Hey, Dean?"
"Sam." John heard Dean's raspy voice answer. Too bad - it would have been better if Dean had remained unconscious.
"Oh Jesus, Dean. Hey, everything's going to be fine, okay? We're gonna get you to a hospital. I just need to get you up first, alright? This might hurt a little."
John could hear Dean groan as Sam struggled to put them both on their feet. "Sorry, sorry," Sam muttered. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah...I'm just...fucking peachy," Dean wheezed. The pained wheeze disintegrated into a wet, painful cough.
"Oh shit. Shit - Dad? Dad, we gotta go. Like, now." Sam craned his neck around only to see John still on the floor, his back to them. "Dad!"
"Get him in the car, Sammy. I'm right behind you." He couldn't face his sons, not yet. He couldn't face Dean, couldn't face the damage the demon had inflicted while wearing his face. You're a coward, Winchester.
He pushed the his pain aside as he awkwardly clambered to his feet, standing uncomfortably with all his weight on his left leg. He turned slowly around and watched as his children stumble out the door. Dean was leaning heavily against his little brother, depending on Sam's support to keep him upright in a blatant show of weakness. Worry clamped down on John's heart.
By the time he limped out to the Impala, Dean was already situated in the back seat, his head resting against the window. He could see how pale his son looked in the moonlight and guilt and fear and other emotions John didn't want to identify rose up inside of him. Sam turned the engine on and glared at his father as he walked over to the passenger side, but didn't say anything as John got into the car. Instead, he just jammed down on the accelerator and peeled away from the old cabin, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
John sat stiffly in the seat, his leg throbbing. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, staring into the path the Impala's headlights cut into the night. He didn't dare complain, even silently to himself, though. What right did he have? Especially when Dean was slumped in the back seat, half-dead because of his mistakes. Like father, like son. They had all made mistakes that night. Mistakes that could cost them more than just Dean's life.
"Look, just hold on, alright? Hospital's only ten minute away." Sam glanced at his father, but John knew the words were for Dean.
John sighed. "I'm surprised at you, Sammy. Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything." Before family. Before Dean. The unspoken words hung in the air, and John knew how they would sound. But John firmly told himself he didn't care. It was infinitely easier to switch back into hunter-mode and to concentrate on his mission. Easier and much cleaner to try and forget that Dean was lying broken in the back seat thanks to his blundering errors. They were all now in more danger than when this whole thing had started, thanks to Dean's misplaced sentiment and his influence over Sam. How had things gone so fucking wrong? And how had he been so blind as to not have seen everything begin to fall apart?
Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and shook his head. "No sir. Not before everything," he disagreed. "Look, we still got the Colt, we still have one bullet left. We should just start over, right?"
John wanted to laugh. Start over? Start over a hunt that began over twenty years ago? I'll be dead of old age before we take that son of a bitch down, Sammy. Hell, we'll all be dead if that demon ever gets its hands on us. The demon's parting threat rang in his ears. What am I going to do? I can't trust you two anymore. I can't keep you safe if I can't trust you.
"I mean, we already found the demon once before - "
John wanted badly to tell his son how different things were now. He wanted to explain how much more careful they were going to have to be. He describe to Sam what a life filled with fear and paranoia was like, because everything was different when you knew something out there was coming for you. But it was too late.
The demon had already found them.