The hunt was overall pretty easy. John had done pretty much all the legwork except locating the grave of the spirit, but that was easy enough. Dean couldn't see himself taking up a job as a grave digger any time soon, but he liked spending the time with his Dad, even knee deep in a hundred year old grave covered in dirt.
"So, Dad," Dean said, out of breath from all the digging and they weren't even half way done. "What does this ghost do?"
"Kills dishonest men," John said shortly. "She's been around for hundred years, started upping the body count recently."
"Why?" Dean said dropping the shade of the shovel into the dirt.
"Influx of dishonest men in Fargo," John shrugged. "I don't know Dean. Just keep digging we got a limited amount of time to do this."
Dean nodded and followed instructions. "What do ghosts look like? Are they invisible like Sam said, or can we see them?"
"They look like people," John explained. "But not really. They're kind of transparent, they look sick. If you saw one you'd know something wasn't right."
"Alright," Dean nodded.
A half hour of digging later, Dean finally hit something solid.
"Hop out," John said as Dean scraped the wooden box beneath them. "I'll take it from here."
Dean lifted himself out of the grave and kept a look out. John warned him that sometimes being in cemeteries at night brought unwanted attention. He thought this one was far enough off the beaten path to keep anyone from noticing, but Dean had been wrong about a lot of things in his short life. He held the flashlight up so his dad could see what he was doing.
Suddenly, the felt a chill that penetrated his cautionary layers he'd worn against the North Dakota January. He scanned the cold empty graveyard, expecting to find nothing, met with a pale woman in nightgown standing less than thirty yards away.
"Dad!" Dean's voice was shaky and hoarse, scared.
"What?" John popped his head out of the grave looking over to Dean, then following his line of sight across to the woman. "Looks like we got ourselves some company." John was calm and collected, like this was a common occurrence in his life, probably, Dean figured, because it was.
John pulled himself out of the grave and pulled the container of salt out of the duffle bag at Dean's feet pouring it over the bones, as he reached for the lighter fluid, Dean watched as his dad flew across the grave yard and flung hard into a head stone.
"Dean," John coughed trying to pull air back into his lungs. "I need you to burn the bones."
Dean stood rooted in his spot, paralyzed with fear as the woman disappeared and reappeared over his father.
"Dean!" John yelled. "She can't get you. I need you to burn the bones."
He nodded slowly then took action, pouring the lighter fluid over the body as he listened to his dad cry out in pain then laugh sourly. Dean dug into his pockets to fine the lighter John had given him. He turned back to his dad, to make sure that he was doing the right thing. The ghost looked like he was standing inside his father. He frozen again, watching his dad as he screamed in pain.
"Do it Dean!" John coughed. "Light it up!"
Dean flicked the lighter twice and dropped it. The woman screamed. He watched as both the bones below him and the translucent woman burned and turned to ash. He then ran over his father, grabbing his hand and helping him to his feet.
"Good job," John coughed clapping Dean on the back. "Really good job."
"Are you hurt?" Dean asked softly, he could tell his dad wasn't quite himself but he wasn't sure how to fix it.
"Just got the wind knocked out of me Kiddo," John nodded taking several deep breaths. "It'll be fine."
Dean followed behind his dad. He was pretty sure John was lying to him about being hurt, but there was never really any reasoning with his dad. John flopped down in the driver's seat of the Impala.
"Back to Bobby's or you wanna crash at a motel for the night?" John asked turning the key.
"If we stay at a motel," Dean asked. "Can we go to breakfast in the morning? Just me and you?"
"Yeah," John nodded, dropping the car into drive. "We can do that."
Dean pretended to be asleep, watching his dad as he moved about the motel room. Dean was excited to have such a big bed to himself. Usually he'd have Sam's cold feet pressed up against his thighs and drooling all over his shirt. He watched as his dad peeled off his shirt, there was a large dark stain along the side. He was right about Dad being hurt badly.
"Are you okay?" Dean yawned.
"Go to sleep," John answered.
"Did the ghost do that to you?" Dean continued. "Because you have to lie for your job? Does that make you a dishonest man? You said that's what the ghost goes after."
"Don't worry about it," John sighed climbing into his own bed. "Worry about what you're going to order for your big birthday breakfast."
"Waffles," Dean answered seriously. "With extra bacon and scrambled eggs and maybe some sausage, with chocolate milk."
"Can you eat that much?" John chuckled.
"Bobby said he thinks I gotta hallow leg," Dean nodded.
"Good night," John said, chuckling as he flicked off the light.
"Dad," Dean whispered. "If you were hurt really bad, you'd tell me, right? Like if you needed help? I can help. Bobby taught me how to stitch things on an orange. It was wicked cool."
"I'm fine, Dean," John answered.
Dean rolled over wishing his dad had actually answered his question instead of ignoring him. He had enough of a time dealing with making sure Sam was okay, worrying about Dad wasn't something he really needed in his life. His dad had always seemed invincible, but seeing him today, he didn't look like nothing could bother him.
Dean woke up with the alarm at 7:30. His dad, however, didn't stir. At first it didn't really bother him. Sometimes he slept through his alarm too when he was really tired, so Dean took a shower. But when he came back into the room and his dad still wasn't up, Dean started to worry.
"Dad," Dean said shaking his dad roughly. "Hey, time for breakfast."
John moaned and rolled onto his back. In doing so the sheets shifted and Dean saw the blood. The cut in his dad's side had pulled open more in the night. Dean's eyes widened in panic, he didn't know what do to do, so he called Bobby.
"I think my Dad's dead," Dean said before Bobby had finished saying hello. "He's moaning and not waking up and bleeding."
"If he's moaning he's not dead," Bobby answered. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Dean said quickly. "The ghost, like, threw him across the cemetery and I asked if he got hurt, and I saw the cut on his side but he said he was fine, and now he won't get up."
"Alright, listen," Bobby said seriously. "I want you to hang up the phone and call for an ambulance. Tell 'em that your dad got hurt, ya don't know how. He just got hurt. I'm getting Sam and heading up. I'll meet ya at the hospital. Understand?"
"What if he gets mad?" Dean said, voice shaking. "Can't you just come and see if he's okay and not call the ambulance?"
"I'm too far away," Bobby said. "Do I say, Boy. I'll see you in a couple hours."
"Okay," Dean said nodding even though he knew Bobby could see him. "I'll do that."
Before the ambulance got there, Dean hid his dad's wallet in the Impala. He knew that his dad wouldn't like it very much if the cops knew who he real was. He remembered that they didn't use their real names when Dean broke his arm, and he knew that their dad never checked into motel rooms using their real names either. He sat in front of the motel room with his head in his hands waiting for the sirens.
He thought that getting to ride in an ambulance would be cool, but watching is dad hooked up to all the machines while he was pressed up against the wall trying to take up as little room as possible, wasn't even a little bit cool. He didn't really understand what was going on, or what these men were doing to his dad, he just knew he was scared and doing everything in his power not to cry.
The EMTs kept asking him questions, like what their names were and what happened, but Dean just sat there, stock still, saying his Uncle Bobby was coming to fix it.
Dean hated hospitals, hospital waiting areas anyway. All anyone would tell him about his dad was that there was a lot of blood loss and he should have called sooner. It took forever for Bobby and Sam to show up and even though he'd only been awake for a few hours, Dean felt completely exhausted as he pressed his face into Bobby's side and just let go.
"I sorry," Dean whimpered into Bobby's coat. "The doctor guy said I shoulda called earlier, but I didn't know. What if he dies? It'll be all my fault."
"No it won't," Bobby said placing a hand of the top of Dean's head. "He ain't gonna die, and it's not your fault."
"Everything's my fault," Dean replied.
"Nothing's your fault," Bobby said situating Dean so he could look him in the eye. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I broke my dad," Dean said wiping his face with the back of his hand. "He's gonna be so mad at me."
"You saved his life," Bobby said holding Dean's face still as he tried to look away. "You didn't break him. You did everything right. You did just what I told you to do. He can't be mad at you for that. If he's mad he can be mad at me. You were just following orders, like he taught you to. Right?"
Dean nodded slowly, unsure of himself.
"Are you the Uncle this young man keeps talking about?" A doctor holding a folder in the doorway asked.
"Yeah," Bobby nodded.
"Good," the doctor sighed. "Maybe you could tell us his father's name since he won't. We have some paperwork that needs filling out."
"He is okay?" Bobby asked as he walked over.
"He's unconscious, lost a lot of blood, but we've stopped the bleed, patched him up. He should be awake in an hour or so. You can see him then."
Bobby turned back to the boys and smiled before following the doctor through the doors to fill out paperwork.
"I told you bad things could happen," Sam snapped.
"Shut up," Dean huffed, flopping down into a chair.
"I told you and you didn't listen and look," Sam said gesturing around the room. "See where we are?"
"Shut up," Dean repeated. "If I wasn't there he would be dead for real, okay. Is that what you want? You want Dad to die out there alone? Just shut up, you don't know anything."
"If coulda been you," Sam said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You could be bleeding to death somewhere someday. Then who's gonna take care of me? And tell me stories? And make my lunch? And tuck me in? And make sure there aren't bad things under my bed?"
"World doesn't revolve around you jerkface," Dean rolled his eyes.
But Sam had a point. It could have been him. He could have been eaten by the swamp creature when he was seven or the werewolf a few years back, the ghost could have picked him to throw halfway across the graveyard. But they didn't and Dean couldn't just say that everything was always going to be fine anymore; not when something like this happened on the simplest of hunts.
"Sorry," Sam sighed, sitting down next to his brother in the empty waiting room. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean it like, I don't want you to get hurt too. I don't like hunting, Dean."
"Well," Dean said seriously. "You're eight, and you don't get a say. So Dad's gonna do whatever he wants and you're going to have to live with it until you're eighteen and move away. That's how life works."
"That's stupid," Sam said letting his head fall onto Dean's shoulder. "This is all stupid."
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean half laughed. "It is, but there's nothing either of us can do about it.
When John woke up, his boys were at his side, waiting.
"What happened," John moaned, pulling at the breathing tube against his nose.
"Dean called me in a panic," Bobby said from the chair across the room. "Told me you'd bled to death in your sleep because you won't let him look at a cut on your side."
"I was fine," John answered.
"Clearly," Bobby nodded. "Scared the kid half to death."
John looked over to his boys, Dean looked squarely at the ground.
"Sorry," Dean mumbled. "I had to call the ambulance because I thought you were dead."
"It's alright," John nodded. "When can I get outta here?"
"The doc wants to look you over again," Bobby answered. "Keep ya overnight, make sure you don't rip anything open again."
"Not saying overnight," John replied.
"Least let 'em give you a once over," Bobby demanded. "Give the kid you scared shitless a little bit of piece of mind."
"I'm sorry," Dean said quickly. "That I called the ambulance, Bobby told me to. I knew you didn't want to go to the hospital but Bobby said."
"It's fine," John said, placing his hand of the side of Dean's face. "It was the right thing. Bobby's right. You ain't got nothing to be sorry for."
Dean and Bobby shared a glance across the room. Bobby smiled and nodded in silent "told ya so."
They were back on the road by after dinner. The group stopped to eat at diner where Dean wanted to have breakfast that morning before heading back home to Bobby's. His dad told him on the ride that they'd be leaving the next morning, important business in Utah, but they'd be there for a while, maybe even until the end of the school year. Dean wanted to tell his dad to slow down, take some time off and heal. That's what Dean thought you were supposed to do when you got sick, but he knew reasoning with his dad was pointless. But John did promise to tell Dean if he was hurt next time, promised to never let anything like had happened the night before happen again. Dean thanked God for little miracles.