Desperate Measures (rated pg13) - 1/1
I talked to my Birth-mom today and it didn't go well. I'm taking it out on Sam. *Sigh* - I suck at life.
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Cross posted at spn_gen and ohsam
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Title - Desperate Measures
Fandom - Supernatural
Characters - Sam, Dean and John Winchester.
Warnings - detailed description of wounds and stitching. I wonder if that constitutes gore…? AU for all seasons.
Disclaimer - I do not own Supernatural or any known characters in the fandom, I do not make any money off this piece of fiction.
Summary - The Winchester’s had a run in with a Demon they know by loss, now Dean and John have to take some heavy handed measures to make sure that whatever the demons are planning can never succeed.
A/N - I have been wanting to read some heavy protective John and Dean fan fic but can’t find it anywhere. I do not know if I’ll be continuing this in another fic or not. But the idea just wouldn’t let me go. So here it is.
The passing thunder of cars along the highway almost rattled the windows. The motel was one of those run down sorts that no one cared about. The motel was one of those that people passed by who had standards.
The Winchester’s didn’t have a standard. They took cover where they could find it. The Impala rolled to a stop. A second later the tail lights grew dark, making the car invisible against the darkness of night. The driver hopped out and the car lit up from inside.
From the passenger side, another man stepped out of the car and he went to the door behind shotgun. From there he dragged someone out. It was hard for him since this person was a bit taller, but he managed it some how.
The first man came back out of the office; “Room twelve,” he said gruffly. The two hauled the third over the pavement and were able to jiggle the door lose. A moan came from their invalid but neither man took notice. The door shut behind them.
Once inside, Dean had Sam lying down on the bed farthest from the door; he unbuttoned Sam’s navy blue shirt to see the wound beneath it. The wound was long but wasn’t seeping blood. He hadn’t noticed his Dad had gone back out to the car, but then Dad was beside them.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Dad said; the first aid kit sat between them and Dad started dabbing anti-septic at the wounds; “It’ll need some stitching,” he added as an after thought.
“What’s wrong with him, Dad?” Dean asked, the worry seeping out as puss from an infection.
“I think the blade may have been poisoned,” Dad replied swiftly. He went to the bathroom and washed his hands before setting up for the impromptu surgery. Dean had the candle lit as Dad threaded the needle. Then he held it above the flame till the steel turned red.
“We should tie him down for this,” Dad said. Dean nodded, he didn’t like the idea but since they didn’t know what was going on, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Dean had that job. He worked fabric around Sam’s wrists before he tied rope around the limbs and the head board. He did the same with Sam’s ankles; just shoeless. Then he tied rope around Sam’s upper arms and torso - being careful not to jostle and to give plenty of room for Dad to get at the wound - so that Sam didn’t buck if he came into consciousness too soon.
With that done, Dean stood at the foot of the bed as Dad set to work. They both watched as the dark stitching was made. The needle poked its way through skin, blood welled to the surface. Dad dabbed at it with a cloth so that he had a clean surface to work with. Sam moaned a little but his eyes didn’t flutter. He was so out of it he didn’t notice the small biting of the puncture wounds he was receiving from is father.
The thread was pulled and skin came together. Dad’s hand was swift and sure, it was as if he’d done it before. Dean imagined a far younger version of Dad in the Jungle forest of North Korea, stitching up a wounded comrade after a particularly bad stint with some Gorillas who’d almost killed them.
Dad didn’t suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - he had a mission, and that was to find the beast that’d killed his wife. He didn’t have time to angst over his time in Vietnam.
Dean was pulled from his thoughts when Sam came awake suddenly, he cursed and moved to the other side of the bed. Sam looked feverishly from him to Dad, who was still working on the wound.
“What…?” was as far as Sam got before his eyes rolled up into his head and he was out cold. Dean checked his vital sign and sighed when he felt it to be strong.
“He’ll be all right, son,” Dad said as if he knew everything was going to be just fine. Not when you have on crazy ass brother who can’t stand to do anything by the book or listen to orders that would have kept him safe.
“What do you suggest we do, keep him locked up?” Dean asked flippantly.
Dad looked up, grim faced; “No way,” Dean shook his head. No way was his Dad thinking that! It was just crazy.
“Well, it’d keep that demon off our backs if we could make a place so demon proof that they can’t get to him,” Dad replied, “At this rate…we’re going to lose Sammy to this thing,” he looked down, made another three stitches before making a knot and cutting the thread. Dean started to clean up the mess. He got Sam un-tied and un-dressed enough so that he could wash blood and dirt from Sam’s face and hands.
Dad was reapplying antiseptic to the wound before he and Dean sat Sam up enough so that they could wrap bandages around him.
Then they tucked him to bed before taking turns in the shower. Dean didn’t say anything when Dad pulled out Sam’s computer and started looking at places that could hide their last link to Mom.
Dean looked at Sam. He was going to be sick in a day or two and they’d stay at the motel till he was better. Then, maybe Dad would have given up this idea about locking Sammy up. Dean had only said it in jest, as if he didn’t really believe that their Dad would do such a thing. But…maybe it was for other reasons, maybe as soon as this thing was dead….they could go back to how things had been. Norma was he, Dad and Sammy traveling across country smiting evil where they found it.
Sammy wouldn’t like it. He would want to go back to school. But, if he didn’t have anything back there….than what could keep him with them?
Besides being heavy handed.
“Dean,” Dad looked up from the computer.
“Yeah…?”
“Its not just Azaziel that wants Sammy,” he was always gruff and to the point.
“What does that mean?” Dean turned away from Sam to pin a water scalding glare on his Dad.
“I think it has to do with Satan, I just don’t know how,” a shrug. The look returned to sender.
And maybe, on second thought…keeping the demons away took precedence over whatever loss of freedom Sam had to endure - for a little while.
END