*Peeps out of shell and slowly inches out armed with the colt and an angel blade, checking that the coast is clear before posting this…
So, thank you all for the lovely reviews and follows and just for reading to be honest! It really means a lot, but my email isn't working so I cant reply individually at the moment…I will try again later :/
Enjoy…
Chapter 3
After John had put Sammy in the Impala he had found the body, fried its bacon and returned to the house, all in record time. He really didn't want to run into the poltergeist again as it would just hinder him when he was trying to find Dean. Yes he had wasted some time, but it seemed to him that it would be better doing it now. Shoot first, ask questions later. After everything the bones hadn't been hard to find. This was a routine hunt and John had no idea just how everything had gone so badly.
John had also done a quick search of the bottom floor of the mansion, but it wasn't quick enough. He knew that if he left it much longer, Sammy would loose too much blood, or the wound could get infected, which could lead to consequences. Pneumonia, amputation…death. The eldest hunter knew he didn't have a choice. Dean was nowhere to be found and he didn't have any more time to waste. He just had to hope that Dean would be able to hold his own for a few more hours, enough time for John to run Sam to the hospital, return and find his eldest son.
I'm so sorry Dean.
John turned and ran to the Impala, getting into the front seat and forcing himself not to look back at the mansion. He knew that if he did, he would change his mind and jeopardise Sam's life. He kept telling himself that Dean was a hunter, he could look after himself. Dean was made of strong stuff, he could fight…but that didn't explain why he had seemingly disappeared off the edge of the earth and wasn't answering his shouts, or pleas.
By the time John reached the hospital he was sick with worry, for both of his sons. Sam was still unconscious and was being wheeled into the operating theatre on some sort of metal contraption supposedly called a bed. To John it resembles a cage rather than a place of rest. And Dean, well, god knows what was happening to Dean.
He had been forced to answer countless questions, most of which he answered truthfully. His son had been crushed by a bookcase. No, he didn't know how. No, he hadn't seen it happen. Yes, he had found his son. Yes, he had been the one that had pulled the bookcase off Sam's leg. His favourite colour was blue. His mother's maiden name... He preferred cats to dogs. John tried to keep the sarcasm out of his mind and tone, but he was failing somewhat.
The questions went on and on and John couldn't help but think how pointless they were. Of course, they were doing their best and only asking about what had happened to Sam, but to John that didn't matter. He had to get back to Dean.
The nurses didn't seem to notice how on edge John was despite him bobbing from foot to foot, flinching at every loud noise and huffing repetitively to get the message across that he needed to go.
Yes, he had given his son alcohol. Yes, he knew that was irresponsible. No, he had not learnt his lesson, he had saved his son from enduring excruciating agony for a longer period of time. Yes, he knew he shouldn't leave and should be there for his son when he came out of the operating theatre.
Yes, but I should also go back to some crappy mansion and check that my other son is alive…don't think like that John, he's fine. Absolutely fine, probably asleep or eating knowing Dean.
When John finally managed to escape the hospital, leaving behind some crappy excuses and his mobile number, he let out a sigh of relief.
Dean needed him more than Sam now. The youngest Winchester was in good hands and John would be no use sitting next to an unconscious boy. Sentimentality was not his strong point anyway.
By the time he reached the mansion John wanted nothing more than to pinch himself and wake up from this nightmare, but it wasn't a nightmare.
He had been at the hospital for five hours, it had taken him an hour to get there and an hour to get back, and he had been knocked unconscious at 10pm and had woken up again at 3am. That meant that Dean had been missing for around 13 hours in total, it was now 11 in the morning. It had been too long. Far too long.
John sprinted through the front door, not bothering with his salt gun. The poltergeist was dead, well deader, anyway. All that mattered now was the damage that it had left behind.
John checked the last few rooms on the bottom floor which he hadn't had the chance to search anywhere. Nothing, which meant that Dean was upstairs. Maybe he had tried to lead the poltergeist away from John and Sam. He was selfless like that and John didn't know whether to be proud of the fact or to tell his son off for not valuing his life enough and for being foolish. He would make his mind up when he found out how much of a state Dean was in.
Hurtling up the stairs John didn't even pause to catch his breath. Where would Dean go? As far away from his family as possible if it meant protecting them. John knew where Dean would be, right down the end of the corridor, on the other side of the only door which was closed. And locked.
John began to throw all of his considerable weight at the door. He may not have been as fit and young as he used to be, but he was pretty much solid muscle. The door came crashing to the floor in next to no time and John would bet his life that he knew where Dean was. A small oak wardrobe was lying on its front, the door pinned to the floor. Great. Just great.
What is it with damned furniture?!
"Dean, can you hear me Dean? You in there son?" John heard no response and chose a few choice swearwords before hauling the wardrobe upright, it seemed to weigh a tonne. He then bit his lip, fearing the worst and reaching out a trembling hand to the door handle, terrified at what he would find.
John recoiled at the smell from the wardrobe, stale vomit the first thing that hit him. The second was shock at the current condition of his son. Dean was huddled up in a tiny ball with both of his hands held protectively over his head. Without his top on Dean's milky skin was on view, as were the thousands of goosebumps that littered it and the violent tremors that shook through his son's body.
John could hear gasping breaths coming from Dean's mouth and the occasional whimper that escaped his lips. What the hell happened to him?
"Dean, c'mon champ, let's get you outta there." Dean showed no sign of moving, or of even hearing his father, so John leant in, wrapped an arm around Dean's back and under his knees, lifting his eldest son out of the wardrobe and easing him down onto the floor next to the four poster bed.
Dean let out a muffled shriek, shaking even more uncontrollably and struggling to get onto all fours. His breaths were coming hard and fast, as if he was trying to gulp down the air like a glass of water. Tears rolled down his cheeks and Dean made no move to wipe them away. He made no move at all.
"Ace, talk to me Ace, are you hurt?" John spotted the blood around Dean's shoulder and cursed, the gash looked deep and the area around it was bruised and swollen. He cautiously pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it over the wound, applying pressure. Dean had other ideas in mind though, letting out a terrified scream and struggling against whatever it was that was holding him down. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. With one last gasp for air Dean fell forward into a dead faint, his limbs sprawling out. John couldn't believe his eyes. Dean, his Dean, had fainted. Fainted? His son did not faint. Ever. Period. What the hell?
With a sigh John rolled his son into the recovery position and noted that there was blood soaking through Dean's trousers. In the words of a wise man, Balls!
John grabbed some sheets off the bed and wrapped them around Dean's leg in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, putting on a fake, reassuring smile when Dean let out a small groan and came round.
"Hey Buddy, you with me now?"
"D-Daddy?" John tried to bite back his shock; he couldn't remember the last time Dean had called him that.
"I'm here son, you're fine now."
"I-I-Couldn't-" Dean struggled to find a sufficient explanation for what he couldn't do, so instead he hauled himself into a sitting position, wrapping an arm around his aching stomach and closing his eyes.
"You did great Dean, just fine. Do you think we can go get you cleaned up, Sam will be waiting for us."
"SAMMY!" Dean's eyes shot open and he looked as if he was going to be sick again. He would have been if he had anything left to throw up.
"Hey, calm down. He's fine, I got him to hospital."
"Hospital?" Dean couldn't quite keep all of the hurt out of his tone. If his dad had already been to the hospital, that meant he had just left Dean all alone in that cupboard for hours. He could have been really hurt. Well, that just showed where Dean came in the ranking of most important thing in the world to a waste of space. He guessed he was nearing the latter end of that spectrum.
"Yeah." John hadn't failed to register the hurt, or the tears that welled up in his son's eyes. "I'm sorry Dean, Sam was bleeding out and I couldn't find you. I know it must have been horrible to be stuck in there for so long, but I couldn't let Sam die. You know that." Dean gave a small nod and looked even more miserable. How had he jumped to conclusions? Of course Sam came first; Sam was the most important thing in the world. How could he have been selfish enough not to ask about his little brother earlier, or to have a go at his dad for not rescuing him?
"I-I'm so sorry. It was my fault; I should have stopped him from getting hurt. It should have been me that got crushed. Is he ok Dad? I'm sorry."
"Dean, it wasn't your fault, by the looks of things you are in just as bad a state, no offence but you look like crap. Let's get you back to the car and cleaned up. Do you think you can walk? Your brother will be fine." Dean nodded and gritted his teeth, still trembling violently.
Feeling like a class A jerk Dean struggled to his feet, swaying alarmingly. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have collapsed if it hadn't been for his father's strong arms supporting him around the waist.
The pair made their way slowly downstairs, Dean's legs buckling so many times that John eventually gave up and scooped his son up bridal style as he had with Sam. He then propped Dean against the car, opened the trunk and pulled out some spare clothes, pills, bandages and a bottle of water. Dean took the water and began to gulp at it, desperate to get rid of the acrid taste in his mouth and swallowing two pills down whole. He just wanted to be numb.
In the meantime, John had pulled Dean's jeans down and had started to stitch up the wound. Dean grimaced in pain but didn't make a sound. He had already made a fool of himself enough.
When John was done he left his son to let him get dressed, offering a little privacy. However, when a few minutes later he heard a loud thump he hurried back around to find Dean lying sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. It seemed as though shock had well and truly settled into Dean, exhaustion, pain meds and fear mingling and resulting in his collapse. Again.
With a sigh John decided to let his son remain out of it a bit longer, just until they reached the hospital. He looked practically skeletal with black bags under his eyes and it would probably be best if Dean didn't look like the living dead when they arrived. The difference a few hours could make to a usually handsome boy's face was frankly alarming and with two hurt sons, John really didn't need the social services poking their noses into his business.
He carefully scooped Dean up again and slid him into the passenger seat of the Impala, carefully closing the door behind his son and the trunk before getting into the drivers seat. Now that his immediate fear for Dean had been quelled, John was left wondering what had happened to make his son break. It definitely wasn't the pain, which left either the dark or the confined spaces. John assumed it was the latter, Dean had never really feared the dark, he never feared anything, but it was fair to say that he was weary of what came out in the dark.
So apparently Dean is claustrophobic, he thought to himself.
John looked down at his son and tried to assure himself that he had done the right thing, leaving Dean for hours in a tiny wardrobe, but the truth was, part of him knew he should have continued searching and found Dean sooner. Surely Sam could have waited another ten minutes.
Or not.
He just didn't know anymore.
With thoughts circling round John's head, he knew this was going to be a long drive.
Well, there ya go for now :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter xxx The next will be uploaded in a couple of days xxx Please leave a review.
*goes back into shell grabbing laptop and Supernatural DVDs…Dean, here I come, ready or not…let the fun begin!
