AN: For disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

Much love to all readers (and especially reviewers 😚 😚 😚) I hope you enjoy.

Losing My Religion

Previously:

Henry: "If you are God's chosen, you will be spared."

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A large molten hand reached out, pressing against Dean's chest. A scream, more terrible than anything John had ever heard, rent the air.

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John: "You'll need to go and get the car. Take her with you."

Sam: "Yes, Sir."

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Chapter 8: The Distance in Your Eyes

Sam Winchester slowed his steps as the Impala came into sight. Despite his earlier confidence he could drive the car with no problem, now the prospect of doing so was before him, his hands had become sweaty. It didn't help that he was going to have an audience, and a stranger at that. Not someone helpful like Uncle Bobby or even his brother, who would tease and mock him but still make sure he knew what he was doing.

But Dean couldn't help him now, Dean was the one who needed help. He needed the hospital and the only way to get him there was for Sam to drive the car. Sam could do this. He wasn't just the nerdy research boy anymore, he was part of this hunt. He had taken down the bad guy and now he was going to save his brother. It was everything he'd wanted. So why did he desperately wish that he was sitting safely in a motel, still just wishing he had it rather than actually having it?

Sam pulled the keys out of his pants and opened the driver's door.

Mari climbed into the shotgun seat and waited for him to start the engine.

Sam felt like throwing up. He sometimes caught Dean talking to the car, maybe that would help. "Ok Baby. Please be a good girl," he whispered quietly. He moved to the front of the seat, realised that wasn't going to work and adjusted it so his feet could reach. Even with it fully forward it was a stretch. He let his gaze wander over all the instruments of the console. Ducking his head to the side, he located the right place and put in the key. He eyed the narrow path in front of them for a moment then he licked his lips and focused back on the controls before him, turning the key with shaky hands. With a rumble, the engine started, its deep vibrating purr filling the silence.

He'd seen this done a thousand times. He could do this. He moved a lever and the windscreen wipers swung across the glass. He moved it back and sat up straighter, trying to make it appear he'd meant to do that when he felt Mari look his way. With a breath he located the right lever and watched as the P moved to D.

Mari was still giving him a questioning look as he stared at the controls intently but said nothing.

He took a deep breath and pressed on the pedal. The car moved forward, faster than he expected and he lifted his foot immediately. The next try went better and as the car drove forwards, Sam clutched the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. So far so good.

He managed to get onto the right track and, despite a few jerky moments, he thought he was doing well. The motor had some problems choosing the right gears, especially when Sam took his foot from the gas when the situation became too tricky. Then a sharp bend came into view. He kept going but found the car responded very differently to the few times he'd ridden a bike. Between not allowing for the size and then overcorrecting, they barely made it. There was a horrible scratching noise from the branches of the bushes and trees lining the roadside.

Mari clutched her fingers around the handle of the door. "You know how to drive, right?"

"Of course," Sam felt her scepticism but it wasn't a complete lie. He knew how he just hadn't done it before. "I've just never driven on this kind of road," he admitted. That much was true, since he'd never driven on any kind of road. "But my dad gave me the keys, didn't he?" he defended. His stomach squirming at how worried about Dean the old man must be to have done so.

Despite the steep incline and uneven surface, they made it to the caves. There was a slightly dodgy moment when he shifted into reverse instead of park but then they both breathed a sigh of relief as he got it right and turned the engine off. They shared a look before both getting out of the car.

Sam called Mari back when she started heading straight inside, handing her a couple of blankets before grabbing the larger of their first aid kits.

Henry was still where they'd left him, handcuffed and face-down, his eyes turned away from where John was trying to patch up Dean. There was gauze over Dean's bullet wound and John was working on the burns. Apart from the bits stuck to the wounds, he had removed most of the remains of Dean's shirt, exposing the red, raw looking skin. In some areas black, crispy looking edges surrounded shallow craters of blackened flesh.

"No, we need the fine mesh gauze to cover the burns," John said, passing back the pack Sam had handed him. "Is there any silver sulfadiazine cream?" He thought he had picked some up after that salt and burn incident in Montana where the spook wasn't the only one to feel the flames. He dare not risk it near the deep burns but it might limit the risk of infection on the surrounding areas.

Mari was watching them, impressed by the calm, efficient way they were dealing with the wounds, slightly disturbed by the cryptic asides that made them sound at best nuts at worst like psychos. Once they had protected the wounds with the sterile dressings, John clicked his fingers at her and she handed over the blankets.

"The hospital will be able to fix him, right Dad?" Sam asked.

John stayed silent and Dean tried to fill the gap.

"You know how wrong that sounds, right Sammy?" He covered his groin area with one of his hands and gave his brother a faux-nervous look. Sam ignored the diversion, keeping his eyes on their suspiciously silent father.

"We are going to the hospital, right?" he pushed.

John sighed. "Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds Sammy, then we'd have the authorities asking questions."

"I don't care!"

"Sammy, we can't exactly explain all this, the other victims, the cherufe."

"I'll tell them I did it," Hank interrupted.

Whether it was the death of the cherufe, releasing him from something that had gone beyond his control; the shock of the Taser jerking him from the spiral and allowing him to see how far he had gone; or just the look his daughter was giving him, but Hank had dropped his excuses, all his flawed justification for what he'd done.

"I'll tell them I shot him."

"And I should trust you why?" John scowled at him.

"Because if he doesn't tell them, I will," Mari said. John looked at her. She had placed herself at Dean's head again and her fingers were stroking his hair. Something Dean either hadn't noticed or didn't mind. John wasn't sure which would be more worrying.

"Hospital it is then," he determined, filing the Mari/Dean issue away for later consideration.

"But ..." Dean attempted to sit up but didn't make it far.

"You're going!" John ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Dean said, rebuked by the tone that had been firm but not harsh. He looked away, avoiding his dad's gaze and found himself making eye contact with Henry.

"What do you know," Dean said a little bitterly. "Seems I was God's chosen after all."

A small grunt of either irritation or amusement escaped John as he moved between the two, before Dean could undo Hank's current remorse. He handed Sam Dean's pistol, which he'd retrieved when securing Hank.

"Watch him," he said, indicating the man still lying face down in handcuffs. Then he turned to Dean. "Sorry kiddo, suck it up." Since there was no easy way about it, John didn't waste time. As gently as he could, he tucked his arms under his son and lifted him. "You, with me," he said to the girl as he struggled upright with the teen.

With a slightly worried look at her father and the young boy standing over him, gun aimed in steady hands, Mari followed 'the General'. By the time they made it to the car, Dean's face was pinched in pain.

"Get the door," John barked.

Mari opened the driver's door.

"The back door," John growled impatiently.

"Right, sorry," she said, flustered, closing the driver's door and moving to the back.

"Go around the other side and help me," John ordered once the back door was open. Mari did as she was told. Between the two of them they were able to lay Dean down on the back seat. He was taking short, sharp breaths, his eyes closed. "Stay with him." John left the door open as he headed back to Sam and Hank.

A few minutes later all three appeared. John went to the back of the car and started clearing out the bags from the trunk. Sam took them and found places in the footwells to store them.

"Right, in you get," John said to Hank.

Mari, who had stayed by Dean, murmuring comfort, looked up at the order and moved to the back of the car where John was waving Hank into the trunk with his gun. "You cannot be serious? He's handcuffed."

"Sammy," John called. Sam appeared next to him as he pulled another pair of handcuffs from a bag by his feet. He held them up and Sam turned and placed his hands behind his back. John put the cuffs on him then turned to the girl.

"You're lucky I'm letting him in the car at all, given he shot my son. Not to mention the other shit he's been up to."

"But -" Mari started, she was distracted though when Sam stepped forward and handed his father the cuffs he had removed while they were talking. Her mouth hung open.

"Any more questions or do you want to join your father in the trunk?"

Mari shook her head and headed towards a seat as, none too gently, John 'helped' Hank in.

Sam blocked her when she approached the back seat so she moved and got into the front passenger seat. Settling herself beside the scowling General, she wondered briefly if she'd have actually preferred to have joined her dad.

If she thought driving with Sam had been nerve wracking it was nothing to getting back down the mountain. John drove as fast as the narrow winding track and Dean's injuries would allow. She was amazed they didn't go over the edge. Once on the roads, he pushed the car to maximum speed. But they made it to the hospital safely.

John started barking orders at the first member of staff he saw. They were quickly joined by several others who got Dean from the car and onto a gurney. Within a few minutes he was being whisked away and John moved to begin filling in forms at the desk. Mari blinked around in the harsh glare of overhead lights and stark normality. It felt unreal after the bizarre events in the cage and cave. No mention of her dad had been made. If she wasn't sure that the General never forgot a thing, she'd have thought he'd forgotten there was a man in the trunk of his car.

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John no longer knew whether he was in this war because of the threat to his children, or if the threat to his children was because he was in this war. It was all the same at this point. They were balls deep in enemy territory and the only way out was to kill every single one of these bastards.

He also had to stop kidding himself regarding his sons' place in the war. Dean wasn't at the rear, he was on the front line, and had been for a while. All John could do now was make him the best damn soldier he could be, give him the best chance of survival.

And little Sammy had seen real action now too. It might have been Dean who felt that thing's burning hand on his flesh but it had been Sammy who experienced his baptism by fire that day.

The first time in combat, the first time you have the enemy in your sights and pull that trigger, it changes you. John remembered his first experience. It was a different world, a different life, he'd been a different John Winchester. But he remembered it like it was yesterday.

It would change Sammy too. Like John, his first victim had been human. It had been different for Dean, his first strikes were all against supernatural freaks. But Hank was human, just as the Viet Cong had been, and though Sam might not have killed him, he had struck him down. For the eleven-year-old that would be enough. It just remained to be seen how it would change him.

There was nothing obvious in the anxious eyes of the little boy next to him. If anything, he seemed more Sammy than he had in a while. There was no sign of the sarcastic and snippy pre-teen. Eleven-years-old or not, the wide, questioning eyes were those of the cheeky toddler who always wanted to be snuggled in a lap.

Whenever John thought of Sammy, that was what he saw. Pudgy fingers fiddling with a zip or button until he fell asleep; or him eating the stickiest, messiest thing he could find; or playing 'bash' on the nearest head; or making loud, indecipherable comments about things they passed on some random highway; or just watching TV while making small sucking noises on his thumb. Baby Sammy didn't mind what they did, as long as his brother or father was tucked safely under him.

Of course, that had been then. John threw an arm over the narrow shoulders and pulled him a little closer. He had never been a medic in the Marines, so field treatment had basically amounted to two things, keep them alive and get them to help. He was good at that. He wasn't good at what followed, at the long periods of nothing but waiting, during which there was absolutely nothing he could do to affect the outcome. Especially when the outcome looked grim. He wouldn't promise Sam that Dean would be ok. He wasn't one to sugar-coat the harsh realities of life, not these days at least. But they could hope, and they could hope together.

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"Mr Perry," the frustrated policeman raised his voice again to recapture John's attention which had wandered to a passing nurse. "You still haven't explained why you waited to call the police."

As predicted, the hospital called the police not long after Dean was taken away. Two officers had arrived just as John was arguing with the woman at the desk about wanting to see his son. Their arrival had not calmed the situation, instead John just seemed impatient with their presence, like someone was demanding a cup of coffee while he was in the middle of cooking dinner. When they asked how his son had come by a bullet wound, he had snapped at them.

"He was shot. How else do you come by a bullet wound?"

When they pressed for an account of what happened, John had huffed that his son had been shot by Henry Shepherd. The natural follow up question of whether Mr Perry knew where the offender was, had John staring the glare of a man summoning his patience with great effort. Then, with a huff, he led them out to a beautiful classic Chevy.

While the officer had been admiring it, John was horror struck after spotting several scratches in the paintwork on the door. A heated but cryptic discussion with his young son had followed, so it was some time before he got around to opening the trunk.

Expecting a map or other evidence, the officer had been bemused to find it contained the handcuffed offender. Even more so when Henry Shepherd didn't complain about this and confessed without prompting to both shooting Dean and killing several others.

The police had Shepherd and his daughter, who had followed along with all of this silently, checked out by a doctor then took them to the police station. Mr Perry had refused to leave the hospital so now they had sent another officer to get his statement. This 'officer' barely looked older than his son.

John's angry eyes turned on the kid in a uniform. "Look here, Jumpstreet. That is the third medical professional to walk past. Any one of them could have word on my son but I'm stuck here talking to you. Ideally, I wouldn't have called you until my boy was back on his feet and if that meant your local Charlie Manson hanging out, tied up in my trunk for a few days, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"Sir, I appreciate you are upset by –"

"You don't appreciate anything," John interrupted. "For a start, when someone shoots and burns a member of your family, you'll know upset doesn't come close."

The young officer looked like he might cry and John took pity. He ran a hand down his face.

"Look, I know you're just doing your job but there really isn't anything else I can tell you. Besides, the crazy guy confessed, didn't he?"

"I really can't confirm or –"

"I was standing right there!" John shook his head. "I don't know what happened to the others. The woman was already dead when I got there and my son was next. I was able to disarm and restrain the wacko, then I got my son here as fast as I could."

The officer gave up and dropped his pad to his side. "I think that's all I need right now but we may have more questions for you later."

Not if I can help it, John thought but he gave a small nod.

"I'll leave you to it, thank you for your time."

John looked carefully at the officer, whose tone and demeanour had changed. Then he saw that the officer's eyes were no longer on him but on the unblinking, hazel puppy-dogs, watching them. John wasn't sure if the plea in them was genuine or for effect. His youngest was scared but Sammy was also well aware of the manipulative power he wielded. In either case, it was working.

"I hope your son is alright."

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Dean was not alright. It was too dark and he was too hot and Sammy was in danger. He fought to free himself but just found himself more restrained.

He was getting hotter and he could see Sammy. He didn't know what had gone wrong but panic squirmed in his stomach. Sammy wasn't supposed to be there, he was supposed to be safe, back in the motel, never on the hunt. Weight or restraints or just terror held him pinned. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't move. The cave was on fire and the flames stood in the way. But Sammy was over there. He would run right through the flames but he was being held down.

"Nurse, we need to get his temperature and heart rate down."

"I can barely hold him, Doctor."

"Peters, get the restraints."

"But?"

"This boy has survived too much for us to lose him now, damnit! I am not going to let him hurt himself further and if that means restraining him, I'm damn well going to do it. Understand?"

"Yes Doctor."

A soft voice reached out to him through the chaos. Not familiar but achingly feminine.

"You're safe Dean, just relax and breathe."

Like another voice that whispered to him in the dark and hidden places of his mind.

You're my angel … I love you my little troublemaker … Go to sleep now, there is nothing to fear, angels are watching over you.

It seemed forever she had been just beyond the flames where he couldn't reach her.

He was her angel. He had to be. She'd told him he was. Angels watched over him. He watched over Sammy.

But these damn shackles were stopping him from saving his little brother and the more he pulled on them, the tighter they seemed to get. Fear welled up inside of him and threatened to spill down his face.

Sammy was beyond the flames, just as Mommy was beyond the flames.

If Sammy was with Mommy that wasn't so bad, right? Except Dean wasn't with them too.

Why wasn't he with them too?

"OK nurse, push the Acetaminophen."

The young nurse straightened from the boy's head. He still looked in pain but he wasn't fighting so hard. She could only hope on some level he'd heard her and knew the trauma that had brought him here was over now.

"Yes Doctor."

His mother's face seemed to linger just beyond the flames and a deep sucking longing drew him down deeper and deeper.

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AN: It really was tempting to leave Hank in the trunk for a few days but Dean wouldn't allow me to, given how much it would stink up the Impala :)

Thank you for reading and if you have a mo, please do drop me a line. All feedback helps me improve and even a quick thumbs up can really make my day xx Love and hugs to all.