The Illusionist II
Chapter 14 : Drug You
Sam sighed, and stopped. His brother was hurt; what the hell was he thinking? Rolling his eyes, he turned around, making his way back through the darkness to where Dean had been.
All he'd wanted to do was help him, and once again, Dean had shrugged him off. Told him everything was fine, but it wasn't. It was far from fine. Did he honestly think Sam was that blind? The brunette's brow was narrowed as he continued to retrace his footsteps, frustration still seething through his veins. He had seen the burn mark on his brother's ear. It was red and looked painful, and Sam knew it had to have been hurting. Just like all the other wounds those crazies had inflicted upon Dean. Bad enough he'd gotten hit in the head again. Sam couldn't even count the number of concussions his brother had been on the receiving end of, but they were too many for one human being to have had.
Sam's lips pursed even further the more he thought about his brother's condition. He knew he was being a selfish brat when he walked away, but he wondered, did Dean even realize what an ass he was being? The big "bravado" mask that Dean wore was wearing thin, and Sam could see right through it. He grimaced when he thought about the marks he had seen that decorated his brother's knuckles, and recalled just how wonderful it had felt when he'd put his through a mirror.
He didn't even want to think about the wounds he hadn't been able to see, because Dean had become more than sufficient at hiding them nowadays.
Probably due to all the practice he had thanks to Dad.
Sam could feel his face heat up at the thought of his father. A grim smile graced his lips as he thought about giving the man just one of the beatings he'd given his brother—the satisfaction that it would give him—but then he thought about Dean, and he knew better. It would hurt his brother too much, because for some damned reason, Dean actually cared about the man.
Sam was pretty positive that he didn't anymore. Didn't know if he could even force himself too. Not after all that he'd seen and heard about.
The rustling of leaves pulled him from his reverie. He looked around, the trees so thick that the moonlight mostly trickled through them. "Dean!" he called out, squinting in the darkness, and wishing he'd at least stolen a flashlight from those manic hillbillies. When he didn't receive an answer, he tried again. "Dean!" His brow narrowed further when he realized that his brother had fallen a lot further behind him than he thought he had.
"Sam!" a voice shot through the darkness, but that voice didn't belong to his brother. The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end, and the sudden recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. "Sam!" it came again, and he knew that it was their father's.
His heart instantly started to pound, questions racing through his mind a mile a minute. The main one being, What the fuck?
He hurriedly followed the sound of his father's voice, trampling through the brush, not caring about the branches that scraped across his cheekbones. He knew only one thing—that if their father was there, something was most definitely wrong and fucked up. And the fact that Dean hadn't been the one to respond him scared him to his core.
He wondered briefly if he wasn't having another vision. After all, the last one had been frighteningly real and vivid, but as he got nearer and nearer to his father's voice and the sounds of what he could only presume to be some sort of struggling, he knew better. This shit was real. As real as the ghostly wind that was starting to howl in his ears, as real as the ground packed with dead leaves underneath his feet.
It wasn't long until he came upon a clearing that opened up with a view of a lake.
He stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, taking in the scene.
There on the ground at the edge of the lake lay a body, though who's, he was unsure of. Next, he saw that his father was pulling someone out of the black pool of shimmering ice, whom he immediately recognized as his brother. "Dean!" the name shot from his lips, and suddenly, his legs moved again, propelling him to the lake's bank. "Dean!" he shouted once more, though he was acutely aware that his brother obviously couldn't hear him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed, glancing at his father as he grabbed a hold of his brother's soaking wet clothes and hauled him up out of the frigid waters.
"Sam, I know we've had our differences, but now is not the time," the older man stated, voice sounding more gravelly and worn that the youngest Winchester could ever recall. The moonlight only highlighted the fact that John looked worse than he ever had; and Sam knew that some part of him should at least try to care about his father, but that part was long gone and he just couldn't. Instead, he only felt anger. And if he wasn't holding onto his brother's motionless body, he would've decked the man right in his jaw.
"Well, I hope you can make some time, because you've got a lot of explaining to do," Sam ground out, jaw clenching visibly underneath his skin. His eyes narrowed on the man as he extracted Dean completely from the lake, immediately checking for a pulse. Thankfully, he felt one, and as he examined his brother further, he saw that he was still breathing, there being no water in his lungs.
Without hesitation, he slipped an arm underneath Dean's knees and the other under his shoulders, picking him up as he stood to his feet. Even though Dean was soaked through, Sam had no trouble as he started walking, John on his heels. "Maybe you should lead the way," Sam stated through his teeth, anger still emanating off of him.
"Sam-"
"Save it for the motel, and that's if I even let you inside," he spat, venom heavy in his tone as he held onto his brother for dear life. He could feel Dean's shivering, and couldn't help but feel guilty at the fact that this was all somehow his fault.
"Sam, I know things didn't exactly end well with us the last time we spoke-"
"You're damn right they didn't!" And Sam could feel the hatred growing with each new step he took, fingers clenching the cotton material of Dean's clothes like there was no tomorrow.
"Just give me a chance to explain-"
"Like I said, you can explain it later. Once Dean is safe and back at the motel," and it was getting harder and harder for Sam to speak without wanting to yell and scream in his father's face. "Oh, and by the way, the only reason I'm even letting you this close to him is because I don't want him to catch hypothermia from me having to walking ten miles to get to the car. So consider yourself lucky that you've gotten this far."
John stayed quiet once that sentence was spoken, face drawn into an unreadable expression. A few moments later, they came upon a black truck which Sam immediately lowered Dean into the bed of, climbing in after him. "Sam-"
Once again, the brunette cut him off. "We'll be just fine back here. Just drive," he stated, face still twisted bitterly.
John started the truck, the engine instantly roaring to life.
Sam slid further down into the back of the truck bed, pulling his brother up and between his legs so that Dean's head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, knowing that it probably wouldn't do much good as far as warming him up went, but he couldn't bear to let him be within ten feet of their father right now. Didn't even want the man able to touch him.
He hated the way his brother's skin was so pale that it appeared almost translucent. The way the dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and the way he was so still. If Sam wouldn't have known for a fact that his brother was still breathing, he would've thought him to be a corpse. Sam immediately cringed at the thought, and began to rub his hands up and down Dean's shoulders, attempting to warm him up, but ultimately knowing it wasn't doing a damned bit of good.
As Dean trembled in his arms, he too could feel himself shaking, though he wasn't sure why. The cold, fear, exhaustion—one or even a mixture of all three could be the culprit. Gritting his teeth against the cold, biting wind that was blowing across his face, he gripped his brother tighter and started to murmur in his ear, telling him that he was going to be safe and alright and that he had to be, dammit because Sam couldn't lose him.
Sam watched as the trees zoomed past them, gravel spinning and kicking underneath the truck's tires. The ride was not a smooth one by any means, but eventually, they made it back to the motel. As soon as John stopped the truck, Sam was already climbing out of the back of it. Once his feet hit the pavement, he leaned over and grabbed his brother, gently maneuvering him over his shoulder.
He wanted to ignore their father as he walked passed him, but it was hard when the older man was already walking in front of him towards their room. "So what, were you spying on us? Didn't think your kids could get the job done?" Sam spat, yanking the keys from his pocket and pushing open the door.
"I wasn't-"
"I didn't say you could come in," Sam interrupted him, hurriedly making his way over to Dean's bed and gently laying him on top of the covers.
John ignored him and walked across the entryway anyway, closing the door shut behind him. "I wasn't spying on you, Sam."
Before the man had a chance to continue, Sam spoke again, blue eyes gleaming with anger. "Oh really? Then how in the hell did you know we were here? Just happened to be in the neighborhood?" and within seconds, he was in his father's face, brow narrowed and ready for a fight.
"I read about the missing persons, and I just knew you boys would be up here. This is the only motel in town, kiddo-"
"Don't," Sam warned, jaw muscles pulled tight in his cheeks. "You don't have any damned right to call me kiddo, or son, or anything that even relates to us being family!" He was seething now, and could feel his hands transforming into fists at his sides.
John's face hardened, expression darkening instantly. "Sam, you are my son, whether you like it or not. Now I know that the last time we spoke, we didn't exactly end on the greatest of terms, but you need to stop acting like a child, and listen to me when I'm talking to you."
"You told me that if I walked out the door, that I needn't come back! And you can trust and believe me when I say I wasn't going to if it hadn't been for Dean. You know, the other son that you have that you treat like a soldier under your command rather than your family!" Sam shouted, eyes gleaming just as dangerously, if not more so than his father's. "You know he almost died? Huh? Because of us hunting something that you—you—sent us the co-ords to. Were you just too damned busy to listen to that voice mail I left you? Because," Sam stated, leaning in even closer, "I meant every single word of it."
"I may not have been able to have been there then, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm here now, Sam. And as much as you may not like it, I saved his ass tonight when that bastard was about to drown him in that lake." The anger was beginning to ooze out of the oldest Winchester, bit by bit like the slow burn of a cigarette.
"Yeah, that's not all you've done. You think I don't know what you did?! You honestly think I don't know how you treated him? You abused him! And you think that that's alright? That just because you're sorry, it's okay and you can come back? Just like that? Well, you're sorely mistaken." Sam could feel his nails cutting into his palm, but he didn't care. He was almost at the end of his rope, and could feel his irrational side wanting to take over.
"A lot happened while you were gone, Sam. More than you claim to know," John stated, eyes never breaking contact with his son's.
"More than I know? Oh, trust me, I can believe that." And Sam could feel the nerves in his arms twitching. He honestly didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to hold back. Dean was still passed out... The thought of just punching his father right in the face was so damned tempting too.
"Sam-"
"Don't Sam me!" the youngest Winchester exclaimed. "You think I'm just going to let you come back here and act like everything's okay because you saved him? How fucking stupid do I look to you?" Just one punch to the jaw. Hell, maybe he'd be able to knock some sense into the man. No, not sense, just a little of his own medicine. Make him feel how Dean felt...
"That man was going to kill him, Sam!" John shouted, his temper getting the best of him. His hands were now fists at his sides as well, clenching and unclenching.
"What, like you hadn't tried the same thing before? After all the beatings you gave him? You didn't think it was possible that someone other than yourself would give it a try? Shit, he couldn't even tell you were possessed because you acted like a fucking demon before it even happened! What does that tell you?" The veins in Sam's forehead and neck looked as though they were all but ready to burst open at any second, and he could feel his arm starting to pull back, preparing to sock John right in his jaw.
"Look, I wouldn't have come here if I didn't need your help," John stated, breath coming quicker and faster.
"Help? Help you what?" Sam scoffed.
"Catch the thing that killed your mother," John admitted, and almost instantly, Sam stiffened.
"What?" the brunette asked, expression changing from downright hatred towards his father to shocked. "Come again?"
"I've got a strong lead—a real lead—on the thing that killed your mother and Jessica," and at the mention of her name, Sam's face softened momentarily only to grow confused and angry once again. "How in the hell do you even know about her?" he forced the words from his lips, wanting to hit his father all over again. He didn't know why, but just her name coming out of his father's mouth made him want to clobber the man all over again.
"Sam, it's a long story-"
"Shorten it for me then!" Sam spat, eyes aflame with anger once more.
"Sam," and there was that warning tone in John's voice that Sam recognized almost instantly. But he honestly didn't care if he was setting the man off; if they just so happened to get in a fight, then so be it.
"We visited you sometimes," and the voice that spoke hadn't belonged to John that time. "At Stanford."
Both men turned towards the bed, temporarily pulled from their argument as two pairs of eyes fell on the middle Winchester who was now sitting up on the bed, wary expression on his thin visage. He looked horrible, skin pale and bruises now visible along his jaw and left eye. His head was bowed, focused on the ugly flowery bedspread rather than his father and brother.
Sam was the first one to move into action, sending a glaring glance in his father's direction before hurriedly making his way over to the bed.
"Don't," Dean muttered, shaking his head as Sam was about to put a hand on his shoulder.
"But Dean-"
The middle Winchester cut him off, holding his right hand up in a defensive gesture. "Just don't, Sam," he stated, voice quietly breaking, eyes still unable to meet the others in the room. "Why don't you two get back to your argument while I clean up. Don't worry about me."
"Dean," and this time it was John who spoke, tone even and voice deep.
Upon hearing his name, Dean immediately curtailed his attempt of sliding off the bed, still favoring his left arm. He didn't look up though, just kept his eyes downward towards the floor.
"I know we have a lot to talk about as well, son," John started, only pausing when he heard the barely audible noise that had escaped Sam's throat. "But you honestly need to let your brother look at those wounds."
Sam watched as Dean relented, disdain for himself showcasing brightly in his eyes. The youngest Winchester gently pulled Dean up from the bed, his heart breaking as he felt how badly Dean was shaking. Dean swayed as soon as he was on his feet, and Sam did his best to hold on to him, gently but firmly as he guided him into the bathroom while their father looked on, and Dean did his best to shove away, though to no avail. Sam wasn't letting go of him.
Sam didn't miss the way his brother was limping, and even though he could tell Dean was trying his damnedest to hide it, the wound was still obvious.
Guilt immediately washed over Sam as he thought about how carelessly he'd just tossed his brother onto the bed and argued with their father first, instead of tending to his injuries like he was supposed to. And Dean had just laid there, for God knew how long, awake and listening to every damned jab they were sending at each other. The middle Winchester had always said Sam was best at verbal sparring; Sam hated that he was right.
He helped Dean over to the toilet, not missing the way his brother grumbled under his breath about how he "didn't need help, dammit." Once Dean was seated and looking as dejected as ever, Sam helped him out of his jacket, attempting to identify all of his wounds.
With the jacket and over-shirt off, Sam was able to get a pretty clear picture of the damage that had been inflicted on his brother, cringing at the wounds that he counted as his eyes lingered over Dean's far too thin body. He was clad only in a black t-shirt and jeans, leaving pale, skinny arms crumpled limply in his lap. Goosebumps spread across his flesh, popping up and down his veiny arms left and right.
It felt like everywhere Sam looked, there was blood or burnt flesh. He counted at least four burns marks, and he figured there was a possibility of there being more. Then there the cuts and slashes all over his hands and face.
His leg was easily the worst though; Dean's makeshift bandage did nothing to hide the bloody wound located there, and Sam prayed that it had stopped bleeding.
"Dean, you're not gonna like this, but the pants have to come off," Sam stated, eyes still narrowed in scrutiny of his older brother's body. He immediately began to attempt to aid his brother in getting rid of the denim material, though Dean wasn't having it.
"I can do this myself," Dean snapped, pushing Sam's hands away from him, voice trembling with every syllable.
"Stop fighting me, Dean," Sam scolded, easily overpowering his older brother. "Look, I'm sorry I left you—I really am," Sam had to bite back the lump that was starting to form in his throat from his guilt. "But you have to let me help you, alright? You've lost a lot of blood, and I know everything sucks right now 'cause he's less than twenty feet away, but you have to just stop. Okay?"
Dean stood up suddenly, gaze directed on the bathroom door as though John were going to bust the damn thing down at any second and come in, and started to undo his belt. Sam hurriedly reached out as Dean almost fell over, steadying him with firm hands only to have Dean squirm beneath him.
"I got this!" Dean yelled, hands shaking furiously as he tried to get out of Sam's grasp again. His breath was starting to come harder and faster, as though he couldn't draw air into his lungs quick enough.
Sam could see the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, and hurriedly tried to calm his brother down. He grabbed a hold of Dean by his shoulders, hunching slightly so their faces were eye to eye. "Dean, look at me. Dean!" he barked out, raising his voice only because he still couldn't get his brother to so much as send a glance his way. Dean's eyes immediately shot to Sam's, and the younger man could see the fear, hate, and shame that consumed them. "I'm not going to let him hurt you. Do you understand?" Sam asked, hating the fact that he could see Dean's heart beat throbbing rapidly in his throat.
Dean swallowed, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he continued to stare at him, brow narrowing as though he were trying to understand what Sam had just said. Finally, he spoke. "I'm fine, Sam. I don't need you to protect me." His voice weaved in and out of being stable, and sounded as though he were about to lose it.
"For just once in your life, just let me—let me help you," Sam pleaded, blue eyes wide and sorrowful. "Please."
Dean clenched his jaw, and searched his brother's blue orbs some more before glancing back at the door. "Hurry up," he finally mumbled, though his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides.
Sam nodded, and released Dean from his grip. He watched as Dean unbuckled his belt, and slid it off, the jeans automatically slipping down past his hip bones and to the floor. Sam felt his stomach clench at the sight, knowing that it was wrong, wondering how in the hell he could have let Dean starve himself as he had—but instead of saying anything further about the matter, he clamped his mouth shut and got to work.
The stab wound was deep, at least two inches into his flesh, but luckily, it had stopped bleeding. Sam determined it would have to be stitched and bandaged, and quickly got about disinfecting the wound. He didn't miss the hiss that escaped his brother's tightly clasped lips, or the way his leg reflexively jumped when the alcohol made contact with it. Once all the blood was gone (even the trail that had dried from the start of the wound to his ankle), the youngest Winchester began the arduous task of sewing up his brother's skin. He glanced up at his brother's face every now and then only to find Dean's gaze fixed on the door behind him. He soon finished, and wrapped the wound in gauze, inwardly hoping that he had enough to finish the job.
From there, he went about treating and dressing the burn that was on the inside of his brother's thigh, thankful that Dean had remembered to pick up some Neosporin on their last pharmacy run. They were going to need it.
"Are you done yet?" Dean ground out, and Sam looked up at him as he finished with the burn wound. Dean was glancing nervously between the brunette and the door.
"Yeah," Sam said, nodding as he stood up. "With your lower half anyway," he added, knowing that the rest of Dean was covered in three times as many injuries, if not more.
"Good," Dean muttered, and reached for his mud-caked jeans, instantly flinching back when Sam did too. With narrowed eyes, he stared at his brother, looking as though Sam's touch was like the fire that had burned him hours earlier. "What?"
"Those are dirty," Sam explained in the calmest voice he could muster. "Let me get you some clean ones. I'll be right back, okay?"
Dean continued to stare at him before finally nodding his approval. "Hurry up," he repeated, voice barely audible as he cast his gaze elsewhere.
Sam nodded, and stood up. With Dean's jeans in hand, he exited out of the bathroom, making sure to close the door behind him.
John was standing by the window, arms folded across his chest and that same unreadable expression set upon his features. "How's he doing?" he asked.
Sam bit his tongue as he made his way over to Dean's duffle. "Like you actually care," he muttered darkly as he pulled out a change of clothes for his brother. He was satisfied with his choice until he spotted one of his old, long forgotten hoodies at the bottom of the bag. Another wave of guilt crashed over him, and he quickly pulled it out from its hiding spot and zipped up the bag. He had almost made it back to the bathroom when his father spoke again.
"I'm gonna go grab us something to eat. I'll be right back."
Sam ignored him, and went back into the bathroom, closing the door once more. He sat Dean's clothes on the sink counter with the exception of the jeans, which he handed to his brother.
Dean took them wordlessly, and stood, Sam right by his side, just in case. Dean stumbled as he tried to slip his leg through the denim, and Sam silently assisted, ignoring the choice swear words his brother was weakly uttering.
Once the jeans were on, Sam motioned towards the shirt. "I'm sorry, but it's gotta come off now," he said, though Dean didn't move a muscle. "I need you to take your shirt off, Dean," Sam tried again, this time, his tone was laced with a hint of frustration.
"And what if I say no?" Dean challenged, eyes narrowing as he spoke.
Sam sighed. "Look, Dean. I know you're still upset with me right now, and I'm sorry for that. But you need to let me help you. As much as you might hate it, it happens sometimes, and you can't do everything by yourself. So stop acting like it's just you against the world, and let me take care of you."
Dean's jaw clenched through his skin, and after a few tense seconds, he removed his shirt, hands trembling all the while. "It's cold in here," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "So hurry up."
Sam bit his tongue, doing his best not to speak again until he was done. He worked mutely, gently spreading Neosporin on all the visible burns, grimacing himself at the one on Dean's right bi-cep. He honestly couldn't tell which one looked worse : the one on his shoulder, or the one one his arm. Either way, he didn't miss the way Dean's eyes scrunched up as he made contact with them. He wrapped everything in gauze, almost exhausting their entire supply.
He did his best to ignore the way his brother's ribs still poked out from underneath his skin as he cleaned up the cut on his side, thankful that it was much more shallow that the stab wound on Dean's leg. It didn't need stitches, so Sam briskly bandaged it up and moved on to his brother's hands.
Before he could start though, Dean curtly mumbled, "A shirt would be nice."
"Right," Sam said distractedly. He pulled the hunter green henley off of the counter, and handed it to his brother. Dean took the shirt and painstakingly slipped it over his head, his entire body tensing as Sam helped him into it.
"I can do it myself, Sam," Dean stated, though Sam wasn't hearing it this time around. "Dammit, Sam, I said I can do it myself! I've done this plenty of times without your assistance. It's not rocket science."
Sam's patience was starting to wear thin. "I'm doing the best I can here, Dean, and I don't know how many times I've asked you to stop fighting me, but I'm not gonna ask again. Quit acting like a three-year-old; I'm almost done." The youngest Winchester couldn't help but feel even more guilt-ridden at his words. He hated the situation they were in right now just as much as Dean did, and as angry as he was, he was going to take care of his brother, whether he liked it or not.
"I'm not acting like a three-year-old," Dean declared through grit teeth, eyes gleaming wildly as they zoned in on his brother's. "I just want to get this shit over with, so hurry the fuck up."
"I am!" Sam shouted. Dean recoiled instantaneously at the sound, and Sam found himself taking a step back from his brother. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the back end in frustration. "I just have to take care of your head, and your hands; then, I'll be done. Okay?" he said, just as ready as Dean was for him to be finished.
Dean didn't reply. Instead, he just stared ahead, scowl marring his wary features.
Sam took a deep breath, and went back to attending to Dean's wounds, thankful that there weren't many left. He cleaned and disinfected his wrists, then wrapped them with the last of the remaining gauze. He moved on to Dean's ear, and then finally to the gash on the back of his head. It took longer than he liked to remove the blood from Dean's hair, but eventually, he managed to get all of it out. The worst part came last; he had to stitch up this wound as well. The laceration was about an inch or so long, so made quick work of sewing the skin back together. As he was doing so, he realized how many scars his brother actually had on his scalp. Most of them were located on the back of his skull, all small, if not smaller than the one he was currently taking care of. There were at least six that were visible, and with a sinking feeling in his chest, he wondered how many more existed underneath Dean's hair.
His train of thought was interrupted by the contained hiss that escaped Dean's lips.
"Sorry," he murmured when he realized he'd dug in a little too deep that time. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, and ardently finished. It took less than a minute to take care take of the small cut on Dean's cheek, and then he was finally done. "There," he announced. "All done."
Dean continued to stay silent as he stood up, not making it less than three feet before Sam had to catch him so that his face wouldn't meet the floor. The brunette felt his brother automatically resist again, and attempt to push away before ultimately giving up and stilling in his arms. "He went to go get something to eat," Sam stated, and he could feel Dean start to shake. He could tell Dean was trying to stop it, but the more he tried, the worse it got. "Here," Sam said, pulling the forgotten hoodie off of the counter, and handing it to his brother. He knew the trembling was more than likely knowing that their father was now there, but he figured the worn garment couldn't hurt.
Dean stared at the charcoal gray material for a moment before finally slipping it on, wincing as he slipped his left arm through the sleeve. Sam watched as he zipped it up, the size XXL hooded sweatshirt appearing far too large on his brother's small frame, but there was the slightest hint of contentment that flashed across his brother's face. And even though it didn't take long for it to disappear, Sam was grateful that he'd managed to give his brother some level of comfort, no matter how fleeting it was.
As much as he hated to do it, he hovered along side his brother until they made it to Dean's bed, allowing the smallest Winchester to sit down on his own.
Silence wafted between them until Sam couldn't take it anymore. "Are we really going to do this?"
"Do what?" Dean mumbled offhandedly, still sitting on the edge of the bed, gaze fixed on the bottom of the motel door. His posture was nothing but tense, and Sam tried his best to give his brother space, choosing to pace the distance of the room instead of sitting down next to him.
"Let him dictate our lives again," Sam responded, a hint of anger in his tone. "I mean, after everything's he done, I don't even want him back in this damned room."
"He's our blood, Sam. Just because he's made mistakes-"
"Mistakes?" Sam's voice was starting to raise as a fresh batch of anger began to slither through his veins. "Dean, do you honestly know what the definition of a mistake is?"
Dean's gaze shot from the door to Sam at the comment, hurt and anger of his own gleaming in his eyes. "Fuck you," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Just because I didn't spend the last three years of my life at some fancy ass school doesn't mean I'm an idiot. So fuck you, Sammy."
"He abused you, Dean! He fully knew what he was doing, and meant it! Don't you get that? It wasn't an accident, or a mistake; it was him taking all his anger and frustration out on you because he could! A mistake is when I give myself the wrong insulin because I'm so exhausted I can't tell the difference between the two bottles! A mistake is when I get you blueberry pie when you asked for cherry! Those are mistakes, Dean!" Sam knew that his hatred for his father was getting the best of him, but he couldn't help it. He needed Dean to see the man how he saw him, even though he knew the action was trivial, nonetheless.
"Yeah, I made a mistake when I asked you to come with me," Dean muttered darkly, jaw clenched tightly in anger. "Should've looked for the man by myself like I planned to in the first place," he added.
"And if you would have done that, we both know you'd probably be dead by know 'cause God knows you can't take care of yourself," Sam retorted, blue eyes aflame with fury.
Dean stood up suddenly at that, and Sam could tell it was taking everything in him not to fall right back down to the mattress below. But his brother had that fierce look of Winchester determination in his eyes, so therefore, anything was possible. "I've been taking care of myself and you, little brother, for the past twenty-two years of my life, so believe me when I say, I would have survived just fine on my own." His chest was heaving up and down, his hands fists at his sides once more.
Sam wanted to stop himself from scoffing at his brother, but the gesture rolled off his tongue anyway in typical Sam-like fashion. "That's bullshit and you know it," Sam stated, a look of stubbornness present across his drawn brow. "I have to literally almost force food down your throat now. So no, Dean, I honestly don't think you would've last two months out on that road by yourself. You can't sustain yourself off of just coffee and a piece of pie every other day!"
Dean opened his mouth to say something, but went silent when the door opened back up, their father stepping across the threshold with two plastic bags in his hand. "You two alright?" he asked, tone stern as ever.
Dean immediately answered with, "Yes, sir," voice quiet now, much more reserved than it had been seconds before.
"Good. Both of you take a seat. We've got some planning to do," he answered, setting the bags down on the table and sliding off his jacket. He hung it on the back of the chair and sat down, Sam staring at him incredulously the entire time.
"Seriously? You honestly believe you can just come in here and make yourself at home?" the youngest Winchester shouted, eyes narrowed in anger. "Pretend the last four years haven't happened?"
"Shut up, Sam," Dean ground out tightly, not having moved from his spot either.
"But it's the truth, Dean!" Sam shouted, still sporting a look of disdain towards their father.
"He might've found the thing that killed Mom so can you please put your differences aside for just once?" Sam stared at his brother—really looked at him—and found his fingers slowly uncurling from the fists they'd been transformed into. Dean looked like shit, even covered in bandages and clean, he still looked horribly weak, and so worn that Sam was pretty positive Dean would be able to sleep for the next few days if allowed the chance. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't hit their father (not when Dean was looking anyway), but he hadn't promised that he wouldn't yell or scream at the man. Perhaps though, just for a little while, a truce could be drawn.
For Dean's sake.
Hell, for their mother's sake as well.
And Jessica's.
"Fine," Sam finally sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face and through his hair. "Fine, Dean," he repeated, nodding. Reluctantly, he sat down at the table, as far away from John as possible. "Let's hear it then."
A/N- Thank you all so much for sticking with this story! MANY THANKS to babyreaper, dandy44, MysteryMadchen, wunjo, akira, CrazyDreamin, kissacazador, SupernaturalCheetahFast, renniespice, Stryder2008, and the rest of you lovely people that have read and reviewed this story. I appreciate you all, and hope to finish this story sometime soon. Not sure how many chapters left, but it's gonna get crazy folks! Until next time...