This one's just a snapshot - John's POV - and I was feeling angsty so there's some Hurt!Dean going on. If you enjoy this, look out for my next story - I'm planning a multichap extension of this oneshot :)
Reviews would be lovely!
John Winchester's hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure. He was stamping down on the accelerator. Usually, he tried to be careful when he was driving. Avoiding unnecessary police attention for stupid things like speeding was just common sense. But somehow, with one of his teenage sons laid out bleeding across the back seat, common sense seemed to fly out the window.
The screaming, at least, had stopped. John wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more terrified now that the constant string of expletives and agonized cries had died down, just the occasional muffled whimper now interrupting the harsh sounds of his son's efforts to breathe.
John's eyes flicked constantly back and forth between watching the road and checking in the rearview mirror. Dean was lying flat on the seat, just out of John's line of sight. The look on Sammy's face gave him all the information he needed. The panic in the 15-year-old's eyes as he tried to staunch the bleeding, the trembling bottom lip as he whispered a constant string of meaningless reassurances to his suffering brother, told John that he needed to make a decision, and soon.
Bobby's was still a good 45 minutes away, and John didn't even know if he could make it that far, let alone ask either of his sons to hold up that long.
A final moan from Dean was followed by Sam's voice rising to a more audible level, no attempt made to hide the terror in the heartfelt words: "Dean, no, come on man, don't you do this."
"Sammy? What's going on back there?" John was surprised to hear the strength of his own voice.
"Dad, he's – oh, God, come on Dean, please... Dad, he's out. He's not waking up."
A wave of nausea rolled through John at Sam's stricken words, finally forcing him to make the decision he'd been trying to avoid since they'd found Dean. John's own shaking hands were making him barely fit to drive as it was, and now it became horribly obvious that his son may well not survive long enough to get him to Bobby. Time for Plan B.
John Winchester was not good at trusting people. A couple decades of knowing things that could get him thrown in a rubber room if mentioned in conversation, of doing things that ended up with police teams on the lookout for their next Death Row inmate, had taught him to close himself off. He did not let his guard down, even with friends, and very rarely would he trust a stranger or even a casual acquaintance with any actually true information about his past, his work or his family.
The decision to go with Bobby's backup, then, was not taken lightly. All John had to go on were Bobby's assurances that this was "a good man". John would trust Bobby with his life, and the lives of his sons, in a second, but degrees of separation usually made him cautious. With the suddenly sickeningly real possibility that Dean could die before getting help and leave John with the knowledge that something could have been done, though, the eldest Winchester knew he had no choice.
"Sam?" There was no immediate answer, Sam still frantically trying to garner any response from his brother. "SAM!" The harshness of his tone caught even John unawares, his military training kicking in to deal with the crisis. Breakdown would be severely unhelpful at this point, no matter how rational and attractive a response it may seem. "Sam – do you still have pressure on his leg?"
"Yeah. But, Dad, I – I don't think it's helped..." The soft, scared voice made Sam sound much younger than his years. The knowledge that pressure on the wound added to the pain already being suffered always turned John's stomach. He knew from bitter experience how shaken Sam was, just what it took to keep on applying pressure and try to shut out the pleas to stop.
"Sammy, it does help. It does." With the bleeding, at least. It was too much to think about the rest now. No point until they were somewhere they could actually get something done about it. Essential basics first. "What about the head wound? Is it still bleeding?"
"Not as much. He still won't wake up, dad."
"It's ok Sammy. It'll be ok."
"Dad, we're too far from Bobby's, aren't we?"
"There's a contact of Bobby's much closer. He'll be able to help. Just keep the pressure on his leg, Sammy, and keep trying to wake him. Just like you are. You're doing fine. Dean will be ok. He will."He has to be...
Less than five minutes and a brief call telling Bobby where to meet them later, John brought the truck to a screeching halt in front of their destination. Running to the back door of the car, he first gently pulled Sam away from his unconscious brother. He kept hold of his younger son's shoulders for a second, stopping the kid from slumping to the ground as he struggled to keep his feet after being folded awkwardly in the back seat with Dean's head resting on his lap.
"Sam? You good? You still with me?"
Sam reached out to steady himself on the doorframe as he replied. "He's still out, dad. Please, help him."
John reached quickly into the car, his hands reaching under Dean's shoulders as quickly and gently as possible. A few seconds of awkward fumbling and John had one hand supporting Dean's back and the other under his knees as he lifted him out of the car. Dean's eyes shot open and he let out a pained protest to the movement. "Dad, pl- ah, fuck, dad. Fuckin'hurts dad." His breathing sped up, becoming increasingly shallow, his body beginning to tremble in John's arms.
John was already halfway to the building's door, ignoring the prickling behind his eyes as his son's pained cries rang out into the night. "Shh, Dean, shh, almost there son. You're doing great, it'll be over soon, you hear me? Real soon."
The trembling continued as half-closed, glassy eyes struggled to focus on John's face. "Y - agh, fuck – y' promise? D - dad?" John resisted the ever-increasing urge to break down at the pleading trust infused in his eldest's words. He almost couldn't bear to lie, but there were times when the truth could be a greater evil. Right now, anything but the comforting lie would do more harm than good, not only to the boy in his arms, but also to the one following behind him.
"Yes, Dean. I do. We're here, ok? Help's right here, just a little while, ok? Hold on for me, just a bit more."
"T-trying dad. Fuck – hurts. Don't th-think... S-s'ry, dad..." Dean's eyes rolled back in his head, the shaking subsiding slightly as his head lolled against John's shoulder.
"Shit!" They were losing him. Can't lose him, can't let him go, don't let him go...
John managed to gather his wits enough to realize he couldn't do anything useful while Dean was cradled in his arms, and there was no way in hell he was letting go of his son.
"Sammy! I can't..."
"I've got it, dad," Sam pre-emptively replied as he banged his fist on the door, shouting for help. John heard the panic-tinged edge to the words as he felt the same emotion wrap itself around his mind, his heart – he and Sam knew the same thing, every second wasted was one Dean didn't have to spare.
Mercifully, the door was swung open within half a minute. The holy man behind it looked bedraggled, torn recently from sleep. John wasted no time with pleasantries. "You're Jim Murphy? I got your name from a mutual friend, said you could help."
The prompt for this one was another really appropriate one - Pastor!!! I'm aware this was a bit off canon, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head :)
