Scared- Supernatural Fic
Title: Metus
Author: http://el-spirito23.livejournal.com/
Characters: John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Genre/pairing: Gen, h/c
Rating: PG
Word-count: 2078
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Dean is sick. He and John both learn valuable lessons.
Notes: written for the http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/ Writing Between the Lines Challenge for prompt 68 by http://one-d-mouse.livejournal.com/
Disclaimer: These lovely men still belong to Kripke.
The motel was dark by the time John got home in the wee hours of the morning, but the moonlight was enough to illuminate the salt lines laid carefully across the doorway. He smiled lightly, impressed but not really surprised by Dean’s attention to detail. Even at 8, his oldest was showing an instinctive knack for the hunting life and an even stronger affinity for protecting his younger brother.
John stepped into the motel room and switched on the little lamp sitting next to the overstuffed chair in the outer room, noting with satisfaction that all of Sammy’s few toys were carefully sitting in the cardboard box designated as his toy box. His boy kept a tight ship, too.
After verifying that the salt lines were good on the windows too, John gently eased open the door to the bedroom. Inside were two beds, usually one for himself and one for the boys, but tonight Sam and Dean were in different beds. Looking closer, he could see that Sam was wrapped up in one of John’s old flannels, and Dean had his arms and face pressed into John’s pillow. With a pang of regret and guilt, John quietly closed the door again and settled into the chair. It would be a long night, probably uncomfortable, but it was the least he could do for his boys.
With a groan he leant back, crossing his feet at the ankles, and drifted to sleep.
xxxx
"Daaad!"
Sammy's four year old legs catapulted him onto John's lap, jerking the hunter awake from his place in the hotel's lone chair. John huffed out a breath of air and wrapped his arms around his wriggling son.
"Dean pushed me," Sammy sputtered into John's chest.
"He what?” John said, frowning. It was definitely uncharacteristic of Dean to shove his brother, and definitely not okay.
"Dad…I…"
John turned to see his eldest, leaning heavily on the door frame. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes ever so slightly sunken. There was something very off in his appearance.
“Dean?” John said, quickly lifting Sam off his lap and standing up.
“Dad…” Dean repeated, looking blearily at John. John had barely reached Dean’s side before his son started listing, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Dean as he caught him.
Dean arched in his arms and screamed.
“Damn it!” John muttered, his heart thudding loudly as his level of panic spiked. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“My back hurts,” Dean ground out. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he was panting from the effort of not crying.
“Okay, okay let me take a look, Dean.”
Dean just nodded tightly, his eyes still shut. Sammy had moved closer, eyes wide and a couple of fingers in his mouth betraying how nervous he was.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” John said as he lifted Dean’s shirt. Dean’s back looked okay, no sign of bruising, but the skin felt warm. John frowned.
“Do you feel sick, Dean?” John asked. Dean hesitated, then nodded miserably.
“How long?” It came out sharper than John would have liked, and he winced when Dean shrank back ever so slightly.
“Since you left,” he mumbled, looking at the floor. John swore under his breath. He’d been gone for close to a week.
“Dean-“
“Dad, I gotta go,” Dean blurted suddenly, his knees coming together and his eyes widening. John quickly helped him into the bathroom, and was slightly panicked to realize that Dean needed his help to remain upright.
Dean groaned as he started to pee, and John was horrified when the toilet bowl filled with a red liquid. Dean was shaking with pain, his fingers gripping tightly at John’s arm. Sammy had slipped into the bathroom unnoticed but now he watched with a trembling lip, clearly on the verge of breaking down completely. John wanted to comfort him, both of them, but couldn’t get the words to come.
Once Dean was finished, John gently scooped him up and turned to Sam.
“Hey buddy, I need you to go get your shoes and jacket, okay? Can you get Dean’s too?”
Sam nodded and hurried out of the bathroom. John followed slowly, carefully easing Dean into the chair he had been sitting in. Dean was trying to remain stoic, his lower lip clamped tightly between his teeth, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.
“Daddy?” He whispered, his voice shaky.
“Yeah Dean?” John answered as he handed Dean a few children’s Tylenol.
“Am I dyin’?” Dean asked quietly. The quiet question floored John and his expression must have shown it, because Dean quickly spoke again. “It-it’s okay, if I am, cause I’m n-not scared, but-“
“Dean,” John interrupted, horrified at what his son was saying. “Let’s get a few things straight, okay? First of all, you are not dying. I’m going to get you to the doctor’s, and they’ll fix you right up. Secondly, if-if you were dying, that would not be okay. You’re allowed to be scared sometimes, Dean, and if you’re scared right now, that’s okay. Do you understand?”
Dean hesitated, then nodded.
“Sometimes even I get scared, kiddo,” John said. Dean’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.
“But Dad, you’re-“
“I know, Deano. But even I get scared.”
Dean nodded, then brought a trembling hand up to swipe at his heated forehead. His eyelids started to droop, and he listed softly to one side.
“Whoa, whoa, stay with me, Dean,” John said hurriedly, helping steady his oldest. Dean’s head lolled, but he looked up at John with glassy eyes.
“Daddy, here’s his shoes!” Sammy yelled triumphantly, barreling into the room with Dean’s tennis shoes dangling from the laces.
“Thanks Sammy,” John said, quickly tucking them onto Dean’s bare feet. Sam made a face.
“Dad, he gots no socks on,” he said, clearly disgusted.
“He doesn’t have socks on,” John corrected before picking Dean’s limp form up. “Come on, Sammy, out to the car.”
Sam nodded and held his hand out. John gripped it with the hand not tucked under Dean’s butt, and gently maneuvered them out of the room, locking the door behind them.
“Is Dean okay?” Sammy asked as John helped him settle. Dean was sitting next to Sam, a blanket wrapped around him. He was shivering and grimacing every few seconds as a spasm of pain hit him.
“He’s sick, Sammy, but we’re going to get him better.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled.
“’S okay,” Dean said quietly, snaking a hand out of the blanket and towards Sam. “I’m okay.”
Sammy still looked uncertain, but he squeezed Dean’s hand like it was a lifeline and scooted closer, huddling against him. John smiled lightly as his sons curled together and climbed into the front seat, trying to calm his pounding heart and raw nerves. Dean would be okay. He would.
xxxx
Two days later, John left the hospital with Sammy tucked into one side, Dean bundled into the other, and a bag of prescriptions in hand. Dean was still miserable, poor kid, after a two day visit complete with IV antibiotics and fluids to combat a severe kidney infection, ice packs when his fever spiked dangerously high, and a few terrifying hours where it appeared his kidneys were shutting down.
Now, though he was on the mend, Dean was still running a low-grade fever, and his back continued to ache painfully. The doctor had said it would be normal for the back pain to continue for up to a week or two, but that if it got any worse, Dean would need to be taken back to the hospital immediately.
What it boiled down to was that Dean was going to be sick and miserable for probably another week, at least. John sighed and rubbed tiredly at his forehead, glancing into the rearview mirror. Sammy was snoring softly in the back, a teddy bear stuffed under one arm, one arm and one leg dangling off the seat. Dean was sitting next to him, his face pale and pinched in pain. One hand was resting protectively on Sam’s head and John felt a familiar pang at how grown up his oldest was, at how quickly he’d been forced to mature.
“Here buddy, I’ll take him,” John said at the motel, leaning in to the car and carefully picking Sammy up. Dean looked up at him, blinking sleepily, then nodded and released his grip on Sam. John had barely tucked Sam into his side, nestling the furry head on his shoulder, when Dean tried to drag himself from the car, slowly and weakly swinging his feet out of the doorframe. After that, he just stopped, taking deep breaths that seemed to be his attempt at preparing himself for the exertion of standing. John shook his head at his son’s stubbornness- all Mary, that- then leant down and scooped Dean up with his free arm, shutting the door with his foot and grinning at Dean’s indignant squawk.
“’M not a baby,” Dean muttered into John’s shoulder.
“Never said you were,” John answered, depositing Dean onto the ground next to the motel door. He leaned into his son as he unlocked the door, letting Dean rest his head on John’s thigh.
“I can walk,” Dean said, burying his face into John’s pant leg.
“I know you can,” John said, tucking Dean into his side again. “But you’re sick, and it’s okay to let someone else carry you sometimes.”
Dean doesn’t answer, but he sniffles quietly. John deposits Dean gently on the bed he normally occupies, already planning on spending another night in the overstuffed chair, then lowers Sam to the other bed. He shucks off Sam’s shoes and overcoat and then his pants, leaving him in just a shirt and underpants. By the time he gets to Dean’s side, his oldest is sound asleep, one shoe still on and one on the floor, his legs dangling off the bed. John eases the other shoe off then gently shifts him so that he’s settled more comfortably on the bed, palming his forehead for a second before quietly leaving the room.
xxxx
John startled awake suddenly, groaning as he flipped on the lamp and checked his watch and shaking his head when he saw that it was 2:30. He rubbed a hand over his chin, trying to place what had woken him. It only took a second for him to realize he had heard a small, stifled sob.
“Aw, Dean,” John said, easing the door open and taking in the sight of his son. Dean was curled up on his side, a pillow clasped tightly in his arms, sniffling quietly. John walked into the room and gently picked Dean up, tucking him to his chest. He was a little surprised to feel Dean leaning into his embrace, nuzzling his face into John’s chest and dampening his shirt. John rubbed soothing circles on Dean’s back as he carried him into the kitchen.
“Your back bothering you?” John asked as he grabbed the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. Dean nodded, wiping a hand under his nose. John handed him the pill and a cup of water, then palmed Dean’s forehead.
“You’re a bit warm, kiddo,” he said, handing Dean another pill. “How about I get you a heating pad and we sit down for a while?”
“Okay,” Dean said quietly. John popped Dean’s heating pad into the microwave, then carried it over to Dean. He nestled it onto Dean’s back, watching in relief as Dean relaxed, groaning a bit with pleasure, then carried his son to the chair.
“Dad?” Dean said quietly once they were sitting comfortably.
“Yeah?”
“Did you mean it when you said you get scared, or was that to make me feel better?”
John smiled at his son’s tenacity.
“I meant it, bud. Sometimes I get scared for myself, but mostly I get scared for the people I love.”
“Like Sammy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So you were scared that time Sam fell out of the tree and broke his arm?”
“Yep, I was scared then.”
“And when Sammy got that really bad cough that wouldn’t go away?”
“That was scary too.”
Dean was silent for a moment, before he tentatively spoke again.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Deano?”
“Were you scared for me? When I got sick, I mean?”
John hugged Dean gently, reminded starkly of just how young his son really was.
“Yes, Dean. I was scared for you.”
Dean smiled lightly and tucked his head into John’s chest.
He was asleep within minutes, and John followed not long after.
Author: http://el-spirito23.livejournal.com/
Characters: John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Genre/pairing: Gen, h/c
Rating: PG
Word-count: 2078
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Dean is sick. He and John both learn valuable lessons.
Notes: written for the http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/ Writing Between the Lines Challenge for prompt 68 by http://one-d-mouse.livejournal.com/
Disclaimer: These lovely men still belong to Kripke.
The motel was dark by the time John got home in the wee hours of the morning, but the moonlight was enough to illuminate the salt lines laid carefully across the doorway. He smiled lightly, impressed but not really surprised by Dean’s attention to detail. Even at 8, his oldest was showing an instinctive knack for the hunting life and an even stronger affinity for protecting his younger brother.
John stepped into the motel room and switched on the little lamp sitting next to the overstuffed chair in the outer room, noting with satisfaction that all of Sammy’s few toys were carefully sitting in the cardboard box designated as his toy box. His boy kept a tight ship, too.
After verifying that the salt lines were good on the windows too, John gently eased open the door to the bedroom. Inside were two beds, usually one for himself and one for the boys, but tonight Sam and Dean were in different beds. Looking closer, he could see that Sam was wrapped up in one of John’s old flannels, and Dean had his arms and face pressed into John’s pillow. With a pang of regret and guilt, John quietly closed the door again and settled into the chair. It would be a long night, probably uncomfortable, but it was the least he could do for his boys.
With a groan he leant back, crossing his feet at the ankles, and drifted to sleep.
xxxx
"Daaad!"
Sammy's four year old legs catapulted him onto John's lap, jerking the hunter awake from his place in the hotel's lone chair. John huffed out a breath of air and wrapped his arms around his wriggling son.
"Dean pushed me," Sammy sputtered into John's chest.
"He what?” John said, frowning. It was definitely uncharacteristic of Dean to shove his brother, and definitely not okay.
"Dad…I…"
John turned to see his eldest, leaning heavily on the door frame. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes ever so slightly sunken. There was something very off in his appearance.
“Dean?” John said, quickly lifting Sam off his lap and standing up.
“Dad…” Dean repeated, looking blearily at John. John had barely reached Dean’s side before his son started listing, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Dean as he caught him.
Dean arched in his arms and screamed.
“Damn it!” John muttered, his heart thudding loudly as his level of panic spiked. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“My back hurts,” Dean ground out. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he was panting from the effort of not crying.
“Okay, okay let me take a look, Dean.”
Dean just nodded tightly, his eyes still shut. Sammy had moved closer, eyes wide and a couple of fingers in his mouth betraying how nervous he was.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” John said as he lifted Dean’s shirt. Dean’s back looked okay, no sign of bruising, but the skin felt warm. John frowned.
“Do you feel sick, Dean?” John asked. Dean hesitated, then nodded miserably.
“How long?” It came out sharper than John would have liked, and he winced when Dean shrank back ever so slightly.
“Since you left,” he mumbled, looking at the floor. John swore under his breath. He’d been gone for close to a week.
“Dean-“
“Dad, I gotta go,” Dean blurted suddenly, his knees coming together and his eyes widening. John quickly helped him into the bathroom, and was slightly panicked to realize that Dean needed his help to remain upright.
Dean groaned as he started to pee, and John was horrified when the toilet bowl filled with a red liquid. Dean was shaking with pain, his fingers gripping tightly at John’s arm. Sammy had slipped into the bathroom unnoticed but now he watched with a trembling lip, clearly on the verge of breaking down completely. John wanted to comfort him, both of them, but couldn’t get the words to come.
Once Dean was finished, John gently scooped him up and turned to Sam.
“Hey buddy, I need you to go get your shoes and jacket, okay? Can you get Dean’s too?”
Sam nodded and hurried out of the bathroom. John followed slowly, carefully easing Dean into the chair he had been sitting in. Dean was trying to remain stoic, his lower lip clamped tightly between his teeth, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.
“Daddy?” He whispered, his voice shaky.
“Yeah Dean?” John answered as he handed Dean a few children’s Tylenol.
“Am I dyin’?” Dean asked quietly. The quiet question floored John and his expression must have shown it, because Dean quickly spoke again. “It-it’s okay, if I am, cause I’m n-not scared, but-“
“Dean,” John interrupted, horrified at what his son was saying. “Let’s get a few things straight, okay? First of all, you are not dying. I’m going to get you to the doctor’s, and they’ll fix you right up. Secondly, if-if you were dying, that would not be okay. You’re allowed to be scared sometimes, Dean, and if you’re scared right now, that’s okay. Do you understand?”
Dean hesitated, then nodded.
“Sometimes even I get scared, kiddo,” John said. Dean’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.
“But Dad, you’re-“
“I know, Deano. But even I get scared.”
Dean nodded, then brought a trembling hand up to swipe at his heated forehead. His eyelids started to droop, and he listed softly to one side.
“Whoa, whoa, stay with me, Dean,” John said hurriedly, helping steady his oldest. Dean’s head lolled, but he looked up at John with glassy eyes.
“Daddy, here’s his shoes!” Sammy yelled triumphantly, barreling into the room with Dean’s tennis shoes dangling from the laces.
“Thanks Sammy,” John said, quickly tucking them onto Dean’s bare feet. Sam made a face.
“Dad, he gots no socks on,” he said, clearly disgusted.
“He doesn’t have socks on,” John corrected before picking Dean’s limp form up. “Come on, Sammy, out to the car.”
Sam nodded and held his hand out. John gripped it with the hand not tucked under Dean’s butt, and gently maneuvered them out of the room, locking the door behind them.
“Is Dean okay?” Sammy asked as John helped him settle. Dean was sitting next to Sam, a blanket wrapped around him. He was shivering and grimacing every few seconds as a spasm of pain hit him.
“He’s sick, Sammy, but we’re going to get him better.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled.
“’S okay,” Dean said quietly, snaking a hand out of the blanket and towards Sam. “I’m okay.”
Sammy still looked uncertain, but he squeezed Dean’s hand like it was a lifeline and scooted closer, huddling against him. John smiled lightly as his sons curled together and climbed into the front seat, trying to calm his pounding heart and raw nerves. Dean would be okay. He would.
xxxx
Two days later, John left the hospital with Sammy tucked into one side, Dean bundled into the other, and a bag of prescriptions in hand. Dean was still miserable, poor kid, after a two day visit complete with IV antibiotics and fluids to combat a severe kidney infection, ice packs when his fever spiked dangerously high, and a few terrifying hours where it appeared his kidneys were shutting down.
Now, though he was on the mend, Dean was still running a low-grade fever, and his back continued to ache painfully. The doctor had said it would be normal for the back pain to continue for up to a week or two, but that if it got any worse, Dean would need to be taken back to the hospital immediately.
What it boiled down to was that Dean was going to be sick and miserable for probably another week, at least. John sighed and rubbed tiredly at his forehead, glancing into the rearview mirror. Sammy was snoring softly in the back, a teddy bear stuffed under one arm, one arm and one leg dangling off the seat. Dean was sitting next to him, his face pale and pinched in pain. One hand was resting protectively on Sam’s head and John felt a familiar pang at how grown up his oldest was, at how quickly he’d been forced to mature.
“Here buddy, I’ll take him,” John said at the motel, leaning in to the car and carefully picking Sammy up. Dean looked up at him, blinking sleepily, then nodded and released his grip on Sam. John had barely tucked Sam into his side, nestling the furry head on his shoulder, when Dean tried to drag himself from the car, slowly and weakly swinging his feet out of the doorframe. After that, he just stopped, taking deep breaths that seemed to be his attempt at preparing himself for the exertion of standing. John shook his head at his son’s stubbornness- all Mary, that- then leant down and scooped Dean up with his free arm, shutting the door with his foot and grinning at Dean’s indignant squawk.
“’M not a baby,” Dean muttered into John’s shoulder.
“Never said you were,” John answered, depositing Dean onto the ground next to the motel door. He leaned into his son as he unlocked the door, letting Dean rest his head on John’s thigh.
“I can walk,” Dean said, burying his face into John’s pant leg.
“I know you can,” John said, tucking Dean into his side again. “But you’re sick, and it’s okay to let someone else carry you sometimes.”
Dean doesn’t answer, but he sniffles quietly. John deposits Dean gently on the bed he normally occupies, already planning on spending another night in the overstuffed chair, then lowers Sam to the other bed. He shucks off Sam’s shoes and overcoat and then his pants, leaving him in just a shirt and underpants. By the time he gets to Dean’s side, his oldest is sound asleep, one shoe still on and one on the floor, his legs dangling off the bed. John eases the other shoe off then gently shifts him so that he’s settled more comfortably on the bed, palming his forehead for a second before quietly leaving the room.
xxxx
John startled awake suddenly, groaning as he flipped on the lamp and checked his watch and shaking his head when he saw that it was 2:30. He rubbed a hand over his chin, trying to place what had woken him. It only took a second for him to realize he had heard a small, stifled sob.
“Aw, Dean,” John said, easing the door open and taking in the sight of his son. Dean was curled up on his side, a pillow clasped tightly in his arms, sniffling quietly. John walked into the room and gently picked Dean up, tucking him to his chest. He was a little surprised to feel Dean leaning into his embrace, nuzzling his face into John’s chest and dampening his shirt. John rubbed soothing circles on Dean’s back as he carried him into the kitchen.
“Your back bothering you?” John asked as he grabbed the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. Dean nodded, wiping a hand under his nose. John handed him the pill and a cup of water, then palmed Dean’s forehead.
“You’re a bit warm, kiddo,” he said, handing Dean another pill. “How about I get you a heating pad and we sit down for a while?”
“Okay,” Dean said quietly. John popped Dean’s heating pad into the microwave, then carried it over to Dean. He nestled it onto Dean’s back, watching in relief as Dean relaxed, groaning a bit with pleasure, then carried his son to the chair.
“Dad?” Dean said quietly once they were sitting comfortably.
“Yeah?”
“Did you mean it when you said you get scared, or was that to make me feel better?”
John smiled at his son’s tenacity.
“I meant it, bud. Sometimes I get scared for myself, but mostly I get scared for the people I love.”
“Like Sammy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So you were scared that time Sam fell out of the tree and broke his arm?”
“Yep, I was scared then.”
“And when Sammy got that really bad cough that wouldn’t go away?”
“That was scary too.”
Dean was silent for a moment, before he tentatively spoke again.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Deano?”
“Were you scared for me? When I got sick, I mean?”
John hugged Dean gently, reminded starkly of just how young his son really was.
“Yes, Dean. I was scared for you.”
Dean smiled lightly and tucked his head into John’s chest.
He was asleep within minutes, and John followed not long after.