Chapter Four – Hope
"Sam grab the first aid kit." John yelled as he maneuvered Dean to a sitting position in the car. Sam quickly grabbed the kit out of the trunk and came around to help. They wrapped Dean's arms over their shoulders and between them managed to half carry, half walk him into their motel room. The open wound on his abdomen had started bleeding again and the makeshift bandage John had applied in the field was beginning to soak through with fresh blood.
They laid him down on the bed closest to the door as they entered the dark room and Sam flicked on the lights. Sam stood by nervously watching, unsure what was happening, studiously observing his dad's actions. John commanded the scene with soldier efficiency, utilizing no wasted movements, purposely moving throughout the room as he turned on the coffee maker to get hot water and grabbed towels out of the bathroom before returning to his son and gently pulling off the bandage to examine the wound more closely.
He grabbed the small notepad by the motel phone and jotted down a list of supplies and handed it to Sam, no emotion registering in his voice as he addressed his youngest.
"Sam go to the store and get these supplies and be quick about it. We don't have much time. Go to the hospital and steal these meds out of the nurse's station and son, this better go smooth. Don't get stopped. We don't have any time to waste."
"Dad, what's the plan?" Sam hoped his dad would at least include him in whatever hope he seemed to think they had. Obviously he was furiously trying to save Dean's life when it seemed the situation was hopeless. Dad must know something.
"Get going now."
John returned to his older son who was wincing from the considerable pain of his injuries. The water had come to full heat and he used it to clean off the blood so he could assess the damage. He twisted the cap off of a bottle of whiskey and offered it to his son. Dean took a long swallow, savoring the bite of the liquid, hoping it would dull some of his pain.
John took out the medical thread and needle and proceeded to stitch up his son's abdomen. His hands steady as he stitched, utilizing every ounce of calm he could muster to control the tremors swelling up and threatening to overcome him from the anguish of seeing his son in such a fragile state. Stay calm, don't panic.
"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean pleaded as he looked at his dad with the saddest, most resigned eyes John had ever seen.
"Dean, you're not going to die. Just hang in there." John replied as he continued working, concentrating on the job at hand. One step at a time, just keep moving forward.
"Dad it bit me, I'm infected. If I live I'm only going to become one of them. You know you can't let that happen."
"Dean I know what I'm doing. Trust me." John stated with an overly firm voice, his eyes meeting his sons for a fleeting moment before turning away again. Dean, please just shut up and let me think. I'm going to fix this. I have to fix this. I will fix this.
Dean knew what happened when you were bit by a werewolf, and he knew it wasn't a pleasant proposition. The fever, the seizures and finally the transformation into a fierce brutal beast that felt no compassion and no guilt at tracking down and devouring helpless humans to gorge on their blood and flesh. Yeah, he was definitely looking at a bad situation. Why the hell can't Dad just face the truth? I'm a dead man walking.
John finished stitching up the wound and turned his attention to the bite mark on Dean's shoulder. He cleaned it off and poured holy water over it. He held his son down as Dean grimaced in agony as the liquid bubbled and steamed. The steaming of the wound confirming what they already knew, that evil was waiting to claim one of their own.
John quickly bandaged both wounds and retreated to the bathroom to clean up.
For a moment he just stood at the sink gazing in horror at his son's blood saturating his hands, transfixed, unable to move or think. As the weight of their desperate situation bore down upon him, his hands started to shake involuntarily before he chastised himself forcing his hunter calm to once more take possession of his broken spirit.
With renewed focus he proceeded to wash his son's blood off as he stared blankly at the wasted, weary man who was reflected back to him in the mirror. He scrubbed furiously at his finger tips, needing all evidence of his son's injury wiped away, not wanting the slivers of blood in his nails as a constant reminder.
He was silently wishing he could as easily wash away the end result of that entire night. Wishing he had taken his sons to the movies or out to eat instead of striking off into the woods to confront evil. Wishing once more that he could turn back the clock and just be normal. Wishing Mary was here to hold him close, whispering in her soothing voice that everything would be all right. Wishing that for once he could believe in fairytales. Wishing….
He took a deep, calming breath trying again with all his might to still the tremors building in his heart, before quietly mumbling a prayer to any God who would listen to save his son. He offered up any price or penance if this one prayer would be answered.
He quickly splashed cold water over his drawn features and mopped off the water with a towel before taking another deep breath to steel his nerves. When he returned to the bedroom he only glanced at Dean, his son attentively watching him, his eyes seeking out some sign of hope. He took one last deep breath and turned his back to his son as he pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through his contacts and dialed.
"Joshua? John Winchester. I need your help. Dean's been bitten by a werewolf. How's your serum coming? Have you had any success?"
John listened intently and then continued.
"OK. We're leaving tonight; we'll be there by morning. Get ready for us. Joshua, I'm not going to lose my son. This is going to work." John sighed as an enormous burden was lifted from his shoulders. He was on a course of action that would save his son. He was sure of that. He would not lose his son, he couldn't lose his son. Not like this. He would not bury another member of his family, not again.
"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean quietly asked, finally breaking through and gaining his dad's attention.
"Dean, Joshua has been working on a serum for this, a cure. We're going to get you to him and this will all be taken care of. I told you, there's no reason to worry." John tried to give an encouraging smile.
"Yeah, but it hasn't worked before has it? He hasn't cured anyone yet, has he? Dad I need to know the complete truth. I deserve that." Dean looked at his dad with the wisdom of a man thrice his age and the determination of a hardened warrior.
What sixth sense does Dean possess? How could he possibly know that?
John realized then he wouldn't be able to lie to his son. His senses were already becoming heightened from the effects of the bite and any attempt to mislead him would ultimately fail anyway.
"No Dean. He hasn't had a cure yet, but he's close. He hasn't had many opportunities to try. You're so strong, I know in my heart this will work. I know you'll be the first cure. You need to believe that son."
"All right Dad. I'll believe for now." Dean softly replied.
He lay on the bed pondering his future. Two possible futures were laid out before him, one of which he would rather avoid at all costs. For now he would try to be positive. He knew his dad and brother would both need to believe in this miracle. Hell, he needed to believe in it, but if everything went south they would all have to face the negative future that hung over them.
John packed up their stuff and pulled the bedding off of the other bed so they would be ready the instant Sam returned. The wait seemed to drag on forever with neither Winchester bold enough to broach the deadly silence that hung over their situation. Just as the silence became unbearable, they heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine.
John grabbed the bags and was out the door before Sammy could cut the engine. He loaded up the trunk and returned to gather the bedding and extra pillows. He covered the back seat with the sheets and threw the surplus bedding in.
He returned to help his son out to the car and eased him into the back seat, trying to make him as comfortable as possible with the pillows and blankets. At over six foot Dean really didn't fit lying down, but he tried to get situated for the long ride. Traveling that far while suffering the pains of a werewolf attack was not going to be a pleasant experience no matter what they did to try to make him comfortable.
Sam moved the seat up to give his brother as much room as possible. Dean grinned to himself at the absurdity of that whole situation and how petty he had been. If he had only known….
John searched the bags for the Gatorade that was on the list and gave Dean the bottle to hydrate him and replace his lost electrolytes. He opened several of the medications and took out the appropriate number of pills.
"Dean you need to drink this. You won't be able to eat but we need to keep liquids in you. Take these pills; they'll help with the pain." John instructed.
Dean could see Sam's worried look in the rearview mirror as his brother slipped into the driver's seat again. Sam's face expressing all the emotions Dean felt, but wouldn't allow himself to show. He steeled himself for the journey that was to come, the soldier in him trying desperately to hold firm to his training. Knowing full well if there was ever a time to hold it together, the time was upon him. God, give me strength.
Sam looked from his dad to his brother still clueless as to what they hoped to accomplish with their frantic efforts. He just prayed that for once Dad did know something that would reverse Dean's fate, that there was still hope, and not the unyielding prospect of certain doom.
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