Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, I just wish I do!
My first Wee!chester fic, Sam is six, Dean is ten.
Dean was floating. Floating through darkness, icy fingers of cold wrapped around him. He wasn't sure if he was flying or falling, whether he was in control or completely helpless. And he didn't know if he cared or not.
Dean... Dean... Dean...
Go away, he mumbled. Strange, his lips didn't even move, and he couldn't hear his own voice. That didn't matter though, as long as whoever it was that was trying to wake him up stopped and left him alone.
Dean... Dean...
Clearly whoever it was wasn't getting the message. Dean reached out towards the voice a little, something in the back of his mind recognizing it, and pain began to gnaw at the back of his head. He let out a small moan and fell back into the darkness. No pain. Pain bad... He pushed the voice away and tried to burrow back into the darkness. He just wanted to stay there for now on, no matter what the consequences of that was. At least nothing would hurt anymore.
Dean...
No. He let go of the voice and sank into the blackness again, ready to leave everything else behind him for good. A random phrase leapt at him, out of the blue. Or black, depending how you looked at it.
No matter what, you look out for Sammy, you hear Dean? You watch out for him. Don't let him out of your sight, even for a minute.
Where's Sammy?
Dean tried to claw his way back up to the voice, but by now he was too far down. Powerless, he tumbled away from reality and the ability to think left him like a bird leaving its nest.
SWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDW
John Winchester looked down at his watch, biting his lip. He was almost back at the motel, but he still couldn't get through to Sam or Dean and he was terrified. Sam's words rang in his head - "Its all red, its all red..." closely followed by Dean's pleading for help. "Dad... help... Dad..." John hit the steering wheel trying to drum the voices out of his head by they rushed in on him again. He tore around a corner and his heart leapt as the motel came into sight down the road.
"Thank god, thank god," he muttered aloud, tightening his grip on the wheel.
He swung the car around and screamed into the car park, screeching to a halt outside the motel room where he had left the boys a few days ago. He had thought that it would be fine, with Dean ten years old now and capable of making rational decisions way beyond his years. Now he wished that he had never left them.
He shoved out of the car, leaving the door hanging open, and ran for the motel room. He tried to open it, only to find that it was locked. He didn't know whether to be relieved or even more scared: did this mean that the boys were safe and following his orders or were they trapped inside, injured and unable to get help? He beat the door with his fist, his heart pounding.
"Dean!" he yelled. "Dean! Sam!"
No answer.
"Boys, answer me!"
Nothing.
John stood motionless for a few moments, wondering if he should run and ask the motel owner for another key. But if Dean was hurt by something supernatural, things could get complicated. The manager could do something to get himself in trouble, and then John would have even more to worry about... no. John couldn't risk it. Instead, he put his shoulder against the door and shoved. The door shuddered, and he heard a small scuffling from inside.
"Sammy?" he yelled urgently. "Sam? Dean?"
When he was met with nothing but silence, he slammed his shoulder against the door again. Then he stepped back and began to try to kick it down. He heard the scream of splintering wood and a burst of hope exploded into his chest. He took a few more steps back and then ran at the door, letting out a low snarl of determination as he went. The lock burst and John stumbled into the room, almost falling to the floor.
The first thing he saw was Sam a few paces from him near the wall, his small body thrown over Dean's limp form, his eyes glittering with tears of fear. Dean was on the floor, his head rolled to one side, a white mass pressed against the back of his head. John stared down at his two sons for a few moments, assuring himself that they were both really there. Then he kicked the door shut and threw himself down beside him, grabbing Sam's arm.
"Why the hell didn't you open the door?" he shouted, shaking him slightly. "I was right there, for gods sake!"
Sam stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth open but no sound coming out. John could hear his shallow breaths rasping as he struggled to remain calm. Cursing himself for scaring Sam even more, he patted Sam's arm and pulled him free of Dean, hugging him.
"Its okay, Sammy. I'm sorry. Just... just tell me what happened, okay?"
"S'all red," Sammy whispered.
John's heart plummeted. Sam was too scared to talk straight. He pulled Sam back and then scrambled forwards to Dean, checking his son for injuries. He could only see a bloody mass on the back of his head, but when he touched Dean's hand his skin was cold and clammy. John felt Dean's wrist to find his pulse weak and erratic. Going into shock...
"Sammy, go get a blanket," he said shortly, barely even glancing at his other son. Sam didn't move. John lifted his head, fixing Sam with a cold stare. "Sam! Get - a - blanket! Now!"
Sam scrambled away from him and ran into the other room. John picked Dean up as gently as he could and laid him on the sofa in the middle of the room. The towel had stemmed the bleeding somewhat, but John could see grains of glass glittering in his slicked hair. Had someone hit him with glass? John leapt up and ran to the bathroom to retrieve his meds kit, and then raced back to Dean. As he returned, Sam appeared in the doorway with a duvet clutched in his hands.
"Get over here, Sammy," John said, keeping his eyes on Dean.
He knelt down beside Dean's head and opened his kit, his hands trembling slightly. Sam moved hesitantly over to him, holding the blanket tightly to his chest. John pulled it from him and spread it over Dean's body, briefly grabbing his cold hand again as he did so.
"You're gonna be fine, Dean," he muttered as he reached for the meds kit. "You're gonna be fine, I'm not losing you too, you hear me? You're staying right here..."
He took some tweezers and began to pick the glass off the wound, terrified that some of it had been lodged inside somehow. There was so much blood that he couldn't see properly, and his heart was thundering in his chest.
It always looks worse than it is, head wounds bleed a lot, he's gonna be fine.
He just kept repeating those three phrases in his head, praying, begging that they would make his hands stop shaking, make his head stop swinging. He felt a small pressure on his thigh and looked down to see Sam cringing against him.
"Its gonna be okay, Sam," he said, turning quickly back to Dean. "Just stay calm, daddy's gonna make him all better."
"I don't want Dean to die," Sam whimpered. "He's my best friend."
"I know," John said, a lump rising in his throat. "He's not going to die. He's not."
He needed to hear it as much as Sam did.
Most of the glass was just lodged in the hair around the wound, and there were only a few small shards that he had to dig out. As soon as he was satisfied, he tossed the tweezers away and pressed a cloth against Dean's head. He felt a soft breeze against his sweaty forehead and looked up. The broken front door hand swung open again.
"Sam, shut the door," he said, managing to keep his voice calm.
Sam crept dazedly away, and John vaugely heard him struggling with the door. He looked back at Dean and peeled the cloth away to look at the wound. The bleeding had slowed, but panic was still screaming in John's chest. If Dean had gone into shock for too long, if the blow had been too serious, if, if, if. Too many ifs.
Should take him to a hospital...
Instantly, the automatic wall he had developed against hospitals went up. Hospitals asked questions. Awkward questions. Questions John didn't even know the answers to right now.
No. He would take care of Dean himself. He could do it, he had dealt with concussions and head wounds before. Dean would be fine.
Dean will be fine... Dean will be fine...
He repeated the phrase over and over, as if somehow it might save him from the fear that was threatening to engulf him.
He's gonna be fine. I can't lose anyone else now. I can't. I can't.
(In deep, male over voice) So, will Dean be okay? Will Sam get his ice cream? Will John get over his fear of hospitals? Find out in the next chapter!
P.S I only update if I get reviews, so press the button!
SUPRNTRAL LVR.
