Title: Heavy

Author: OpheliacAngel

Pairings & Characters: John/Dean

Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort/Family

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sam leaves, John becomes too preoccupied with hunting and fails to notice Dean slipping down into self-destruction and recklessness.

A/N: Make note that this is John/Dean, so if you're not into that sort of thing, please don't read. If you are, then enjoy.

Soundtrack: Collective Soul's 'Heavy'

~Complicate this world you wrapped for me

I'm acquainted with your suffering

And all your weight, it falls on me

It brings me down~

John Winchester is a very, very stupid man.

He can't believe his luck, well, maybe he can. Sam hasn't been gone a month yet and he's already lost himself, locked in his own head, barely registering Dean's presence, Dean whom he loves, Dean whom he would do absolutely anything for. Things haven't been good between them even since before Sam decided to head off to college and leave the two of them behind in the aftermath of his absence, picking up the pieces, trying to get used to the fact that any further hunts will be with just him and Dean.

Because Sam's truly gone, and John pretty much knew since he walked out that door that he wouldn't be coming back.

It was the first real hunt since Sam left, the first with not just endless research leading to nothing up their alley, but research accompanied by hunting down the son of a bitch who had slaughtered half a dozen people and get rid of it permanently. John hadn't been watching Dean, he'd been so lost in the hunt that he'd failed to notice until he came back from burning the damn thing to see his son, the love of his life, slumped against the Impala, bleeding and feverish and not responding to John's words or his slaps to get Dean to open his eyes and tell him what was wrong.

John doesn't think he's ever panicked more in his life.

With Sam gone, there was truly no one to watch out for Dean like there should have been; on other hunts, if John was too lost in his head, Sam was always there to look out for Dean and tell their father if something was wrong. Because Dean, stubborn stubborn Dean, would never even dream of telling John himself, viewing it as nothing less than an embarrassment, showing a weakness to his father that he feels should never have been there in the first place.

God knows how he'd thought up that theory, because even when the boy was younger and John would push him, he would always watch himself not to push him over the edge, and he would try to praise Dean as much as he could when he did something that made him proud. And even when Dean fucked up, if he was ever out of his head enough to push his son away, he shared a bed with him most nights anyway (when Sam was away or not awake to see), loving Dean far too much to refuse him, and he made sure Dean knew just how much he was appreciated.

Knew just how much John needed him to keep his head straight when it was twisted by gruesome visions of the past.

Somewhere along the way though, things had gone horribly wrong.

Things had always been hard for the boys growing up, John wasn't going to bullshit because going on and raising his boys had been next to impossible after Mary's death. He held himself together as best he could but on many nights he came home drunk, letting Dean take care of both Sam and himself, instead of John taking care of the two of them, the way it should have been. His mindset at the time had been that it was too late for Dean, who had been old enough to remember the fire and have nightmares of it, but Sam, Sam had a clean state and therefore had a chance to make it out okay, and if anybody could look after him and be a great big brother, it would be Dean.

He wishes he hadn't thought that as often as he did, because while it may have been a good idea to press Dean to protect his baby brother, a further assurance to keep both his boys alive, it had been to much to put on his boy's shoulders, and John didn't really possess the right he thought he had to shove all that shit onto Dean.

By the time he realized it... it was too late.

As year after year went by, things hadn't changed much: John went on hunts and left Dean in charge of Sam; John pulled himself away from the two of them because he didn't know how to deal and shamefully, he didn't want to take responsibility.

The boys grew up, and John found himself searching for something he never thought he would again.

In the most unlikely and utterly shameful place too.

Somewhere along the way, John started to fall in love with Dean, and it wasn't a fatherly love either, though he did have started to really notice his eldest around when he turned fifteen, not able to stop his eyes from straying towards him when his son strolled into the room, often shirtless and his hair sticking out in every which direction, which was adorable and compared with his already muscled, gorgeous form, irresistible.

As much as John may have wanted to, he often couldn't take his eyes off him. At nights sometimes he would sit at a table near Dean's bed, dragging it closer if it wasn't, his excuse being to put himself closer to the two of them to protect them, but really he would just do it to watch Dean, to listen to his steady breathing and watch his eyelashes occasionally flutter.

Deep in sleep, lines of anxiety and exhaustion gone, John witnessed a beauty he reveled in.

He was beautiful and he knew he shouldn't be feeling this, he should be ashamed and feel sick, but the feelings never stopped, if anything they heightened. He told himself he could never tell Dean, but when he stumbled home drunk one afternoon, Sammy in school, Dean tumbled forth into his arms, as if to give his dad the go ahead.

As if to tell him he loved him too and never wanted to be apart from him.

Finally, John realized he could make up for his mistakes: he could make Dean's life better and happier. He could give this to Dean, himself, because that was all he truly could give him anymore. He could curl up with Dean on cold nights and keep him warm, and patch Dean up after hunts and not feel ashamed to let his eyes stray, to kiss every part of Dean that didn't hurt and look up to see his son smiling at him. He could give his son something completely real, let Dean listen to how furiously fast his heart beat whenever he was around, as well as give Dean a break from watching over Sam for once, to just settle himself in John's arms and relax and feel loved, every bit of love that John could give him.

They hid it from Sammy and they hid it in public, but when it was just him and Dean, they could never hold back and what made it better was that they both knew they didn't have to. They could be who they were around each other because they genuinely got each other, they balanced one another out.

And the more John kept telling himself that he was doing this for Dean, that Dean so clearly wanted this, John stopped feeling guilty...

He started throwing himself into loving Dean more wholeheartedly, and it was a perfection that felt just right.

It wasn't just lust for the two of them either, even though that was a helluva lot of it; for both of them the other was home, a home they could physically wrap their arms around and breathe in, someone who knew would protect them. And even though John was gone a lot, even though he couldn't be relied on worth a damn, Dean always waited for him, ready to throw himself into John's arms every single time.

Dean was his home: his familiar scent and short, spiky hair he could run his fingers through; giving him the only solace he's ever had since Mary. He just let himself be with Dean, as simple as that.

And he loved his son so much for all he had willingly given to him. Would never stop loving him.

The ride back to the motel is agonizing, his foot constantly pressing down onto the car's accelerator because of how much he's shaking with fear and an exhaustion that he knows he has to put off, has to shove to the back of his mind for his son's sake. He can't once get Dean to respond and it truly terrifies him. How the hell could he have been so careless? He never would have been so reckless on a hunt, and he cares about Dean a hell of a lot more than any hunt.

He should have realized what was happening; one look at Dean, a look of clarity, might have been all it would have taken for him to realize Dean was slipping, and it wasn't Dean's fault; it would never be his fault.

"Come on, sweetheart," he takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance down at him worriedly. "Open those beautiful hazel eyes for me and let me know you're okay."

But Dean doesn't answer, doesn't even move but just continues to bleed as John's arm tightens around him, holding him awkwardly to his chest, allowing him to stretch out a little across the front seat. He's so afraid to hurt him further that all he can do for now is hold him, talk to him, race back to their motel to strip him down and find out exactly what's wrong.

"Goddammit, Dean," he curses. "Don't die on me, don't you dare die on me. You don't get to die, you don't get to leave me, I need you, son. I love you too much to let you go."

I love you too much to let myself go on and survive if you don't make it.

You're killing me here, darling.

Killing me.

Sure, he's screwed up, he's majorly screwed up and has no one else to blame but himself. So he'll torture himself, he'll do it for as long as it takes.

But he'll be damned if he's going to lose another son.

The remainder of the ride goes by in a blur.

As soon as he comes to a screeching halt in the parking lot, he's carefully picking Dean up bridal style, who seems to have lost some weight, making him easier to carry than expected and really, he doesn't have time to worry about that too, and sprinting inside, locking the door behind him and laying his son gently down on the sole bed in the room.

He remembers coming home drunk the night before to find Dean already curled up in bed, fast asleep, and he vaguely remembers joining him before blacking out. His son had been laying on top of the covers, meaning he wasn't as dedicated to resting as he should be, and before Sam just up and left he would have tucked him in, kissing his temple before curling himself around Dean's smaller frame, breathing him in and drifting off to sleep in happiness.

But he'd been neglecting Dean enough so as to not even do that, and he hangs his head in shame now for a brief moment before getting back down to business and stripping Dean down. He doesn't even think about invading his son's privacy for a second: he's seen his entire gorgeous form more than once. It's just pretty goddamn depressing that after a couple months of tension and strain between them, before Sam worsened it further, their next time has to be under these circumstances.

Dean's sluggishly bleeding from two chest wounds and also from his head, suggesting he may have a concussion but John thinks it not too likely, considering the blood is minimal. Thank god too, because his son's already unconscious and seeming unable to forsake it.

John's been around Dean long enough to know when he's hiding something, and he's also made it his business to keep a watchful eye on his soldier whenever he's around. He's had an instinct since he saw Dean slumped against his baby, visibly trembling and hands slick with blood, that this isn't all due to physical injures, but more so to do with the state of mind of his eldest. If he's right, it means John can't only fix what he can actually see; he has to build Dean back up again, has to find out what's wrong and fix it because if he doesn't, then this is all too bound to happen again.

He knows it has something to do with Sam, and considering John himself doesn't know how to handle that particular subject, he isn't too confident he'll be able to help Dean in the way he wants to. He's done with the neglect though, Dean comes before him always, and he's been blind to that for too long as far as he's concerned.

He gets to work stitching Dean up and testing his temperature, discovering to his horror that he has a high fever that he's probably been nursing for days. He curses under his breath, getting more worried each second that passes, each second that Dean fails to wake up or stir.

John runs his hands through his hair, pulling on it, trying his damnedest not to pick something heavy up and throw it across the room, have a temper tantrum because goddammit, this shouldn't be happening to Dean, this should be happening to him. And maybe that'll wake Dean up but he won't, he's going to keep his temper in check because Dean needs him right now, and he's not gonna screw that up again.

He finally relaxes minutely and sits down on the edge of the bed for a split second, seriously considering taking Dean to the hospital if he doesn't wake up in another minute. He's taking no more chances.

It's then that Dean stirs.

He can see a wave of panic cross over his face as he tries to sit up, before crying out in pain and falling back down against the rock hard bed John wishes he could nab more pillows for. It seems he's shaking even more now, from exhaustion, fever and fear, and John can't bear to see Dean like this, can't handle knowing he's the cause of it.

There are tears spilling out of Dean's eyes and John almost feels like he shouldn't be here to witness this, that Dean wouldn't want him to see this. But he's not going to leave him, physically or emotionally, not ever again.

"Easy, sweetheart," he works to keep his voice clear and affectionate, smiling down at him as best he can. He loves Dean and he isn't afraid to hide it in the slightest. "Lay back and relax, I've got it." No, I haven't. I haven't had it in weeks, so how the hell can I depend on myself to keep it together now? And how could Dean even think that, considering I've been ignoring him for all that time?

But either Dean can't hear him or doesn't seem to care, given he only seems to panic more, and John doesn't want to, but the only thing he can think to do right now is to give him a direct order. "At ease, soldier." His voice almost cracks: he has never seen Dean this sick, pale and exhausted before, has rarely, if ever, seen him cry, and John's heart is twisting tightly in his chest at Dean's panic-stricken eyes.

His heart is ready to break, inevitably bound to shatter within him.

The order still doesn't have an effect on his eldest, who continues to writhe and occasionally cry out in pain on the creaky, worn-down bed, tears still spilling from his eyes and sweat slicking his skin. John takes Dean's hand in his own and squeezes, because it doesn't matter how out of it or how utterly damaged Dean is, John Winchester will be damned if he ever gives up on him.

It's easy to see that Dean's delirious, his hazel eyes open and looking at him but not really seeing him. They roam around more than they latch onto him anyway, lost in a haze of pain and confusion. Tears start spilling from his own eyes and he doesn't wipe them away, merely runs his thumb along the top of his lover's hand, trying to provide some crumb of comfort.

"Sam, where's Sam? Please, Dad'll kill me if I don't watch out for Sammy." Dean's voice is pleading and heartbreaking and it's finally then that John cracks, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea. He can't keep what Dean needs to hear inside anymore, he can't deny his son and the love of his life anything.

He breathes, "Sam's gone, Dean. Sam's... and I'll never be mad at you. It's not either of our faults, yet it's both of ours, but the weight isn't yours to carry alone. You have to know that, son. Please, tiger." He strokes Dean's sweat slicked hair, feeling stupid to previously hope that he would respond to one of the affectionate nicknames John frequently calls him by.

If something happens, if he can't fix him, he doesn't know what he'll do and he really doesn't want to think about what he just might do.

The next few hours are spent checking Dean's wounds and calming him down with a cool washcloth, attempting to bring his fever down enough to lessen his cause for concern. He had no idea his eldest was carrying around this amount of baggage, the amount of guilt and fear in his son's and lover's eyes is astounding. Then again, he should have known, he may not be feeling Sam's loss as deeply as Dean is, but Dean's always been the closest to Sammy.

If his younger son could see the two of them right now, he'd be ashamed and angry at how much he had been neglecting Dean. And if Mary could see how he's been so blind to almost let both his boys go, throwing so much into the hunts, a selflessness he hasn't even been offering to his eldest, he can't even imagine what she would say, doesn't want to.

Because maybe he couldn't change Sam's mind, even if he had tried; it was Dean that he knew from the beginning would stay. Dean he knew he had to protect with his life, keep close to him.

And what makes this whole thing even worse is that Dean doesn't care, can't blame John because he probably thinks it's better that his dad ignores him and leaves him alone with all his guilt, and the absence of Sam that has to weigh harder than a ton of bricks.

He has to make this right.

His eldest eventually sinks down into a restless sleep, but John can't breathe a sigh of relief yet. If he can't get that fever down, then he'll need to take Dean to a hospital, no matter how much he's begged him since he was a little boy never to go there again.

He should have kept a closer eye on him because after Sam left, everything just fell apart. He completely disregarded Dean, and he will never forgive himself for not seeing the signs and reaching out to Dean before he turned self-destructive. John's been so lost in his own head and Dean hadn't even tried to get through to him; he had merely abandoned his son to wallow in grief and self-blame.

What the hell kind of a father and lover is he?

"Sleep easy, Deano. It'll all be better in the morning." I'll make sure of it.

Dean's fever breaks at sunrise. John watches him calm down and slip into a quiet sleep, his limbs no longer tense but giving up the fight as he slumps back against the bed, becoming a boneless heap. John places his hand on his forehead, confirming the fever has dissipated, and is thrilled to see that it has even though he's far too exhausted to think or feel anything at this point.

No hospital, and he thanks a god he's never truly believed in.

That doesn't make the panic go away though, the fear of Dean waking up and denying that anything is wrong, saying he's fine and pushing John away, like last night never even happened at all. But John's not gonna let that happen, he's going to be here for Dean, through thick and thin, through anything and everything because that's what love is.

He smiles down at him, checking his wounds one last time and locking his lips gently, briefly with his son's before settling down in a chair he pulls up, letting Dean solely have the bed to recover, before succumbing to utter exhaustion.

Dean's eyes are open when he lifts his head up off his chest, and John ponders whether he's ever seen a more beautiful sight. Dean's still a little pale, but his cheeks now have a bit of a healthy flush to them, and his eyes are vivid and alive.

"Morning," he stretches before getting up and sitting on the bed, bringing himself closer to his eldest. Dean watches him carefully and John can't read his face, but he can still see how confused and tired he is.

Dean blinks several times, "What happened last night?"

John hands him a glass of water after hearing the true state of his voice, telling him to take small sips, and Dean obeys before patting a spot on the bed beside him. John responds by spooning himself behind Dean, almost afraid to invade his son's personal space, but he seems to want the close contact and John is more than happy to indulge.

He lets himself relax and breathe Dean in, running his hands gently up and down his arms before finally wrapping an arm around his son's waist. "You were pretty much out of it, but I took care of you," he ruffles Dean's hair and the latter leans his head back against him, slowly piecing back together John's heart.

"I don't remember anything."

"That's cause you were injured and riding through a fever you neglected telling me about."

Dean glances away, then finds the courage to look down at his chest wounds, trying to undo the bandages to see the extent of the damage before John pulls his hand away, kissing it, entwining their fingers together effortlessly. He sighs deeply, "It's my fault, Dean. I should have paid more attention..."

"Don't," Dean warns, "we were both out of it after Sam left. Honestly, I didn't want to go on, didn't think I could go on." John's eyes widen in shock at that, he can't bear the thought of Dean thinking that way. There's a long, uncomfortable pause before Dean finally turns his attention back to him, "I fucked up the hunt, didn't I?"

"Hardly," John snorts, deciding to laugh off Dean's preoccupation with their hunts over his own well-being, typical, because that's exactly the massive mistake John's been making. "I worry," he swallows hard, "so much about you. You should have told me, darling. You near gave me a heart attack when I found you."

"You? A heart attack?" Dean says, disbelieving though obviously joking around, and John pulls himself out from behind Dean and draws him nearer, kissing him, claiming him.

They've always been over-affectionate towards each other when they get time alone. John has never been ashamed or afraid to show Dean his worth, how much he loves him and how much he drives him completely crazy with how fucking beautiful he truly is, and Dean has always reciprocated, has always kissed back with just as much fervor, lust and passion, has given John many unforgettable nights with just the two of them, blocking out the world around them.

Just the two of them.

John finally pulls away, not wanting to get too rough and careless with a still healing Dean. His fever may be gone, but for the next few days or so he's definitely gonna take extra precautions with him, since he's just been smacked in the face with potentially losing his little soldier.

"I'm not gonna let this happen again, sweetheart. I'm gonna look out for you, I promise. We'll both work this out, together. You just gotta promise me that you're not gonna keep all this to yourself anymore. I can't handle seeing you again like I did last night, or losing you."

That finally seems to hit Dean, who mumbles, "M'sorry," and John's heart swells with love and relief.

"I'm sorry too, baby. But it's gonna be alright. We're going to be alright."

He kisses Dean again, gently, wrapping his arms carefully around him, holding Dean to him. He can feel his eldest smile against his mouth as he kisses back, warming John completely from head to toe.

"Think you can keep up with me, old man?" And John knows it's an unspoken yes because as long as he's here for Dean, they're not gonna have any problems again; as long as he keeps on loving Dean and cherishing Dean like he is the greatest gift that could ever be given him, Dean will give all of himself to him, just like he always does.

John laughs, letting that one slide; it's gonna be a good day. Actually, it's looking up to be a helluva good life.

FIN