"Ow- damnit, Dean, slow down!"
"Sorry, sorry." Dean slowed his stride and readjusted Sam's arm over his shoulders. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Sam growled. "Just be careful."
Dean kicked the passenger door shut and started forward, taking special care not to move too fast. "All right, come on."
Sam grunted as they moved, limping heavily on his left foot. "Shit," he whimpered. "Damn thing got me good."
"Well quit trying to walk on it, genius," Dean replied. His breath came out as snow white puffs in the cold air. "Shit- I forgot the first aid kit."
Sam lifted his arm off of Dean's shoulders and hobbled forward, crashing into the motel wall, just outside their door. "Well go get it," he panted. "Just hurry up- it's freezing out here."
Dean pulled the key out of his pocket and tossed it at Sam. "Then go inside. Dad's probably awake- you know he hasn't been sleeping well." Dean laughed to himself. "I can't wait to hear him rip you a new one for getting bit by a black dog. Man, you're gonna get it." He pulled open the car door.
Sam rolled his eyes before turning his attention on the door. "That's just what I need tonight, a lecture about the finer points of dog hunting."
Dean grabbed the first aid kit. "Hey, you're the one that let it chomp on your leg."
"I didn't let it- it attacked me. How was I supposed to know it wasn't really dead?"
Dean shut the door and head towards Sam. "Winchester Rule number 14: Make sure it's really dead before you get too close."
"I know what the rule is," Sam murmured, pushing open the door. "You don't need to-"
Before Dean knew what was happening, Sam was yanked forward into the darkened motel room and pulled out of sight.
"Sam!" he shouted, bursting over the threshold. "What-"
Beside him, John had Sam against the wall, one hand wrapped around Sam's neck and the other holding a knife to his gut. Sam's eyes were wide and his hands were clamped over John's, trying to pry the fingers from his neck.
"Dad! Dad- hey! It's us!"
For several heartbeats they hung in limbo, John's heavy breathing the only noise in the room before slowly, he started to relax his grip.
"Dad?" Dean questioned, stepping further into the room. Cold air blew against his back from the open door. "It's just us. Come on, let him go."
Sam gulped audibly, still frozen to his spot against the wall.
Dean studied his father and more importantly, the way he was still holding Sam by the neck. It was taking way too long for John to realize who they were. Dean's gut twisted and he took another step forward. "See? It's me."
John looked between them, his nostrils flaring in an effort to control his breathing. "Dean?"
Dean took another step closer, one hand up in a placating gesture. "Yeah. Let Sam go, okay? He's hurt."
John slowly looked back to Sam, at last lowering the knife and then his hand from Sam's neck. Sam slumped forward, gasping for breath. Dean eyed him critically.
"Sam?" John asked.
Sam looked up, rubbing his throat. "Yeah."
There was a moment of silence, then John's face contorted into anger. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Dean was confused. "Uh, Dad- this is our room, remember?"
"I know what you're doing here," John snapped, glancing at Dean. "But you…" He advanced on Sam, jabbing a finger in Sam's chest. "I thought I told you to never come back."
What the hell? Dean looked at Sam, who looked just as confused as Dean felt.
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his back pressed against the wall as John loomed in. "We just left an hour ago to find the dogs, remember?"
Dean searched his father for any kind of injury. Did he fall and hit his head while they were gone? Was he sleep walking?
"Get out," John growled, pointing at the open door. "Get the hell out of my sight."
"Dad," Dean tried, reaching out for his father's elbow.
His hand was knocked away. "Stay out of this, Dean. If Sam wants to run off to college and abandon this family, then so be it. But he will not be welcomed here again."
"Wh- college?" Dean was incredulous. "Dad, that was almost six years ago! Don't you remember?"
Dean searched his father's face. John's eyes were focused, there were no cuts or bruises or lumps. He appeared to be normal… and very pissed. Then what the hell was happening?
"Sam- out. Take your stuff and get out, now."
Sam's gaze volleyed between his father and Dean, confusion and pain in his eyes. "But-"
John's hand balled into a fist as he pulled back. "I said now!"
"Dad!" Dean leapt forward, pulling John away from Sam. "What the hell is wrong with you? Sam left for college years ago." He pushed John towards the closest bed. "Here, sit down. Something's wrong with you."
"Dean, what's going on?"
John tensed and Dean moved to block his view of Sam. "Sam, please- go wait outside. We'll be out in a minute."
"No."
"Listen to you brother, young man! He's not the one abandoning this family!"
Sam made a sound like a whimper and Dean stared at their father in disbelief. It was like they were reliving the time Sam left for Stanford all over again.
"You see it now?" Sam asked, taking a step away from the wall. Anger laced his voice. "You see! I told you something wasn't right with him! You believe me now?"
Dean tensed. "Sam, don't. Just go wait outside. I'll be right there, okay?"
Instead, Sam just came closer, getting angrier with each step. "He needs help, Dean! Look at him! He needs a doctor, an exorcist- something!"
Before Dean could contemplate that, John was shouting again, leaning towards Sam.
"You shut your mouth, boy!" John shouted, raising a pointed finger even as Dean struggled to keep them separated. "You've got no room to talk! You're the one abandoning your family- your mother- just to run off to some drunken frat parties! You're a disgrace!"
"Would you listen to yourself?" Sam shot back. "Most fathers would be happy when their child earned a full scholarship to an Ivy League school! But not you- instead, I'm being ostracized!"
"Sam, please!" Dean begged. They were both too angry, digging up old grudges, opening old wounds. Dean felt like he was trapped in a bad case of déjà vu. "Just go outside."
"Listen to your brother, Sam. He always did follow orders better than you."
"Oh! So now you wanna get into who's the favorite?" Sam was now hovering just on the other side of Dean, pressing against his shoulder. "You think just because he never questions you, that makes him the 'good soldier'? What about the ghost in Kentucky- you two were gonna barge into that house with your guns blazing like you always do… and you would have ended up killing someone that night because the newspapers failed to mention that a family had moved in! Then what would you have done, huh? You'd be sitting in jail right now, carrying out a life sentence. Rotting."
"And you'd make sure of that, wouldn't you? You'd make sure the long arm of the law hit me as hard as it could, then you'd collect a shit load of money for it."
Dean closed his eyes briefly. The jabs tore at him as they flew past and he breathed deeply, trying to push through the pain. He couldn't handle this right now. He had to figure out what was wrong with John. "Sam, stop. Dad… just stop talking, both of you. Please."
His pleas went unheard.
"At least I'd have a real job. I wouldn't make a living hustling the local bar flies or scamming credit card companies. I could be proud of something."
"You ungrateful little shit," John hissed. "Get out of my house."
Dean tensed. "Dad-"
"Get out of the way, Dean." John pushed Dean to the side and advanced on Sam. "Leave now and never come back, do you understand me?"
Sam backed up, stumbling over the threshold. He glanced at Dean, his eyes bright with confusion and disbelief, his anger dissipating. "This isn't your house, Dad," he said, standing outside, all his weight on his uninjured leg. His breath puffed in the space between them and he wrapped his arms around himself. "You're confused. Dean's right- you need a doctor."
John's left hand grasped the door. "I've never felt better. Have a nice life, Sammy." He started to slam the door when Dean lurched forward and caught it.
"No!" The loudness of his voice surprised him, surprised them all. Dean breathed through his nose, fighting for composure. It had been scripted up till now- all the same arguments that plagued his nightmares ever since Sam announced he was leaving for school. This was the part where he always watched Sam leave, walk out the door and never look back. Up till now.
"No. If he goes, I go."
It was the ultimatum he'd only ever said in his dreams.
John stared at him and their gazes locked. Dean recognized the raw anger in his father's eyes, the nearly feral gleam that had been present that fateful afternoon all those years ago. Dean's stomach was twisted, flip-flopping in his gut. "Come on, Dad," he backpedaled. "Let us help you. You're not yourself… something's wrong with you."
John shook his head fiercely. "The only thing wrong with me is my insubordinate sons. You leave with him, and I never want to see either of you again."
A nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. What if he was possessed! Dean eyed the line of salt at Sam's feet, scattered from when Sam stumbled over it. His eyes shifted to the duffle bag, where the holy water was stored. Then he focused on John. "Christo."
John blinked. "What did you just say?"
Sam's eyes widened with understanding. "Christo," he repeated, louder.
"Get out," John growled, yanking Dean's elbow and shoving him outside. "You think this is some joke? You think you can mock me, mock what we do?" He stomped over to the beds, grabbed their bags, and then returned, throwing the bags at Dean and Sam. "I had such high hopes for you two. I can't believe you're just throwing it all away like this- for him. You disappoint me."
Time screeched to a stop. Dean shivered from an overwhelming mixture of coldness, anger and fear. The hair on the back of his neck stood upright as stiffly as the hackles of the black dogs he had killed fifteen minutes ago.
Then Sam spoke up. "Dad- wait. Let me show you something first, okay? Just hear me out for one minute and if you still want us to leave, we will, deal?"
"No. We're done here."
"Dad," Dean tried, stepping into the doorway. He had no idea what Sam was planning, but he had faith in it. Sam always pulled through. "Please- just listen to him."
John eyed them coldly for several seconds before sighing and moving aside. "Make it quick. You got one minute, understand?"
"Yes sir."
Sam limped back into the room, Dean right on his heels. This was their last chance- it had better work. Sam was a smooth talker but John was furious. Anger was clouding his judgment. If this didn't work, they'd have to get John help by force and that had trouble written all over it. Nobody forced John Winchester to do anything, not even his sons.
Sam dropped his duffle bag on the bed and grabbed the newspaper off the coffee table. "Okay, so I left for college in August of 2001, right?"
"What does this have to do with-"
"Dad, just listen to me for a minute!" Sam snapped, moving towards John. "Look, see what the date is? This is today's paper, read the date."
Dean grinned. Good boy, Sam.
John quirked an eyebrow as he reached for the newspaper. "What the hell are you trying to pull…"
The rest of his words came out on an empty breath. He brought the paper closer to his face, tilting it towards the light as he squinted. "What the hell…" he murmured, confusion quickly replacing anger.
Dean locked gazes with Sam. His little brother was concerned, afraid. The gravity of the situation had fallen upon them heavily and gripped their shoulders with its piercing talons. John Winchester was a strong man- to see him unwell was deeply unsettling. Dean swallowed and broke their gaze, fear coiling in his gut.
Suddenly John shook his head and threw the paper back at Sam. "No, I don't believe this. This is some sort of prank paper you picked up somewhere- well I got news for you. This little stunt isn't going to change my mind. I'm not falling for it."
"Why would I lie about this, Dad?" Sam exclaimed, raising his hands. "This is not a prank! Look, I'm going to turn on the news. You'll see, watch."
Sam began to move but crumbled on his injured leg, catching himself on the edge of the mattress. Dean grabbed him, intent on supporting him, but Sam straightened out on his own and continued towards the TV, stabbing the large round button in the corner. It sizzled to life, the picture snowy for a moment before clearing. In the bottom right corner, the time, date, and temperature were typed in small white print.
Sam said nothing, just turned and waited for John's reaction, exhaustion and pain showing in the corners of his eyes.
The room was silent as John stalked forward, glaring at the TV. As with the newspaper, his face softened as confusion took over. "What's going on?" he whispered, changing the channel only to be presented with the same information.
Dean's heart twisted and he stepped forward. "Dad, it's okay. We'll figure out what's going on, okay? We'll-"
John held up a hand and Dean fell silent. "Just… give me a minute."
Dean looked at Sam, who looked as pained as Dean felt. Their father was lost and confused, like he had just woken up from a deep sleep and was disoriented. Dean had never seen his father so helpless. There had never been a problem he couldn't talk- or bullshit- his way through. John was supposed to be their leader, their rock, their commander. Now the line of order had been turned upside down.
Dean felt sick.
John sank down onto the bed, burying his head in his hands. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as his fingers raked through his hair. "What's happening to me?" he murmured, then raised his head to look at them. "Sam, I..."
Sam ducked his head. "It's okay, I should have known…"
"I don't know what's going on," John admitted, and the words sliced through Dean with talons of ice. "I think I need help."
Dean moved forward, reaching out slowly and tentatively setting his hand on John's tense shoulder. He had to stay strong- at least on the outside. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to a doctor, okay?"
John nodded quickly, taking another deep breath.
Without a word, Sam and Dean gathered the things they would need and followed John out into the freezing darkness.