Dean's Mission [1/?]
Title: Dean's Mission [1/?]
Author: Fox
Characters: John, Dean, Sam, & Bobby
Implement: Belt [this part]
Summary: John leaves the boys with Bobby while he takes a hunt in Colorado so Dean can heal up from Pneumonia. When days go by without any word from John, Dean takes it upon himself to save his dad.
Prompt word was ‘dangerous’ from The Little Spanko's 25 Prompts
Word Count: 3,340 [this part]
Author’s Note: This is one story broken up into [?/?] parts. I’ll posting as I continue writing. So far I’ve gotten three parts written with a little more than half done (I think). Also, because it’s the Winchesters’ and because if they were real people they wouldn’t be PG-13, there’s course language. You’re warned.
One man and two boys were currently sitting at a small, out-of-the-way diner each with different expressions; the father had a weary, worn expression that held heavy eyes and haggard lines etched in his face.
The eldest of the two boys looked like a he might happily bite the head off of anybody who dared to even look at him wrong; his mouth screwed up in a humorless sneer, eyes hard, eye brows scrunched together.
The youngest looked like he was oblivious to whatever had the two older ones set on edge, happily digging into his dinner with gusto.
SPN
John Winchester rubbed a hand over his face, a soft scratching sound emitting as his palm roamed over unshaven territory on his chin. He was tired and his oldest boy, Dean, who was sixteen and full of piss and vinegar was testing his patience, which he supposed wasn’t hard to do, but that was beside the point.
They were on the way to Bobby’s so John could park the boys while he took a hunt in Colorado, that being the reason for his oldest attitude.
Looking at Dean, the paleness of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, sent John’s heart into overdrive.
Almost two weeks ago the Winchesters’ were in Washington dealing with a disgruntled spirit which ended with John and Dean digging up the dude’s bones to salt and burn while Sam sat in the Impala nursing a possible broken wrist. It was the middle of January and the father son duo froze their asses off as they dug the grave and wasn’t it just their luck that the clouds decided to open up? It was a good ten minutes of digging with numb fingers, grunting and a lot of son of a bitches! in the rain before they finally reached the coffin and was able to pry it open. After making sure the remains were charred John ushered Dean to the Impala where he promptly turned the heat up before heading for a motel.
The next day John noticed Dean had developed a cough but his oldest shrugged it of and he didn’t push the issue.
The father should have known better.
Within forty-eight hours Dean was put down hard with a wet, hacking cough and high fever. John made him stay in bed and tried to medicate his son himself but the fever seemed to spike even higher, high enough the kid was delirious, asking for his mom. The final straw was when Sam yelled for him as he was taking a shower. The man could hear the panic in his youngest voice sending him into Marine mode. He immediately jumped out of the shower and wrenched open the door as he wrapped a towel around his waist. What he was met with made his heart plummet to the floor; Sam was frantically leaning over his older brother as Dean wheezed and coughed, trying to get breaths that just refused to come.
John blindly threw on clothes as he gave orders to Sam to get the Impala cranked. As his youngest tore out of the motel room John tried to calm Dean down so he could get the boy moved. He had to pry the kid’s fingers from the sheets he had a death grip on and the scooped Dean up in his arms and hurried outside.
John drove like a bat out of hell while Sam tried to keep his older brother calm in the backseat, rubbing soothing circles on the rapidly rising and falling chest. Sam didn’t need to be told to go get help when they halted in front of the ER doors. He flew out the car as John got Dean out of the back seat. As soon as Dean was on a gurney they wheeled him back leaving John and Sam anxious in the waiting room.
Thirty minutes later a doctor came out and explained Dean had Pneumonia and the pus that built up in his lungs had caused respiratory problems.
John thought he should probably kick the kid's ass for not telling him how sick he really felt but then he would only be a hypocrite: yeah Dean knew better than to keep something about his health from him but John also knew better than to believe his oldest, stubborn child would tell him something was wrong. So who really needed their ass kicked?
Dean had spent four days in the hospital, complaining the whole time, until John finally took pity on his boy and signed him out AMA. Before being released though the doctor had explained that Dean didn't need to be exposed to the cold weather and it was extremely important that he take all of the antibiotics prescribed until he was one-hundred percent.
Ergo, the reason for traveling to South Dakota.
SPN
Back at the diner John watched as Dean poked at his half eaten burger with his fork, his son's way of trying to be rebellious in a not-in-your-face way because the in-your-face way was something his boys knew not to do unless they wanted to be knocked down a peg or two.
"Dean," John said, a slight warning in his voice. When he didn't get acknowledgment he tried again, "Dean." Firmer this time. He felt his blood pressure spike when he didn't get an answer. He leaned with his arms on the table and growled only loud enough for their table to hear, "Boy, if I have to say your name one more time me and you are gonna have problems."
That seemed to get a reaction out of his son as Dean sighed and raised his eyes to meet his father's, "Sir?"
"Quit playin' with your food and eat it." John ordered as he pointed at the bun and meat patty that was taking the fork assault.
"I'm not hungry." Came the curt reply.
"Tough. You need to eat with your meds." Which, for fuck's sake, took an act of Congress and a threat of bodily harm to get his son to take. Thankfully the boy wizened up and took a bite out of his holey burger.
"Dad?" Sam asked completely undeterred by his older brother's pissy-ness. John grunted his acknowledgement as he took a sip of coffee. "How long will the hunt in Colorado take?"
"I don't know, Sammy. A coupla days, a week tops. Why?"
The twelve year old shrugged his shoulders, "Just wonderin'."
"We should be going with you." Dean spat out.
God, why did his boys have to be so damn stubborn? 'Cause they're Winchesters'.
"Shut your mouth, Dean." John advised his son. "I'm not gonna argue with you about this anymore. You still aren't fully healed up and I'm not risking you having a relapse, it's just too dangerous." John's gruff way of saying how much he loved the kid and that he cared. "You keep pushin' the issue and we can make another stop and take care of it. You got me?"
Dean stabbed his burger again and sighed, "Yes, sir."
"Then finish eating. We have to get back on the road."
The drive to Singer's Salvage Yard wasn't any more pleasant but Dean managed to keep his mouth under control. John understood Dean's problem; the boy was a true Hunter. Relished in it in fact. He was a natural: strong, smart, and tactical. Dean was truly happy when they were on a case, hunting down whatever fugly that was plaguing humanity that week. His oldest son was gifted in the way of weapons and quick on his feet but the most important virtue was the reason behind all the natural talent; vengeance.
Unlike his youngest, Dean could remember his mother; fair skin, beautiful golden locks, sparkling green eyes - her burning on the ceiling in Sammy's nursery. Even at the age of four, with all the innocence in the world, the boy knew what happened to Mommy was just, wrong. Not that her dying was anything normal but even the act of death it wasn't right. That's all it took and the little boy turned into a skilled hunter.
They arrived at Bobby's just after midnight. Dean immediately jumped out of the car only giving a grunt of acknowledgement before pushing passed the older hunter into the house.
"Nice to see you too, Dean." Bobby grumbled as he watched the teen disappear up the stair case.
"Hey, Singer."
"I take it he's pissed about you leavin' them here?" Bobby commented as he took his hat off and scratched at his head.
"Yeah," John sighed as he guided a half asleep Sammy towards the house, "I'll make sure he's straightened out before I leave tomorrow."
Bobby shook his head as he followed the two Winchesters' inside, "Damn idjits." he muttered.
John managed to get Sammy upstairs without the kid breaking his neck trying to climb the stairs still mostly asleep. When they entered the boys room Dean was already stripped down to his boxers, laying on his stomach in bed with his face to the wall and gripping his pillow tightly. Sam quickly toed off his shoes, his eyes already shut, as John helped him out of his jeans and shirt. With his youngest situated and snoring lightly the father turned to his oldest who he knew wasn't asleep -no, not with that Kung Fu death grip on his pillow.
"Son, when you come downstairs in the mornin' I want that attitude gone."
Dean didn't show any sign that he heard his father except to grip his pillow harder. John wasn't a man who tolerated disrespect and usually he would have acted quickly and sufficiently to show the boy it was unacceptable but tonight...just-
Well, fuck it. He was too goddamned tired.
Giving up for the night John sighed and shut the door as he left. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where Bobby was sitting at the table with a beer waiting for him. He dropped down in a chair across from his friend and took the offered beer gratefully.
"Ya look like shit, Winchester." Bobby finally spoke up as he took in the man's weary face.
"Thanks, Bobby." John snorted and took a pull of his beer before continuing, "That kid is going to be the death of me."
"I cain't imagine he's had sunshine and rainbows shootin' out his ass."
John shook his head, "Dean's been fightin' me on everything and the little shit even turned us around once on purpose. I almost killed him two states back."
Bobby smirked at his friend's confession but the sobered when he remembered the reason the boys were staying with him, "He was real sick, huh, John?"
Fear overtook John's features before he reigned it in, "The kid couldn't fuckin' breath, Bobby. His fever spiked so high he was asking for, Mary." he rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, "Scared the hell outta me."
Bobby understood how serious the situation was just by the fact that John took Dean to the hospital. Because of CPS and do-gooder doctors who only got in the way, the Winchesters' usually avoided hospitals like the Plague and did Field Triage themselves. If John took his son to the ER it meant the kid's life was at stake, and damn if Bobby's chest didn't tighten when he got that call from his friend a couple of days earlier. Sam and Dean were like his boys too and it would kill him if anything happened to either one of them.
"I'm hittin' the sack, Bobby." John announced shaking the older hunter from his reverie. "Thanks for the beer."
"Not a problem."
John dragged himself up the staircase and before going to his own room stopped outside of the boys’ room to listen. He could hear Sammy's soft snore but louder than that was Dean's own wheezy exhale. John let his forehead thump quietly against the doorframe before he pushed himself off and went to his room to get his son's inhaler. Fuck, he just wanted to sleep. He searched through his duffel for the little orange and red spray contraption. Finding it he returned to the boys’ room and prepared himself to battle the will of his eldest child. As John opened the door Dean's wheezing became more prominent which worried him a little. His boy wasn't relapsing, right? God, he hoped not.
"Dean," John called out as he shook his son's shoulder.
"Hm?" Dean responded back. The fact that the boy didn't even open his eyes at the slightest sound like he normally would have sent a warning flag up in the father's mind.
"You need to take some meds, bud."
His hard as nails, cocky, smart mouthed sixteen year old actually whined, "Daad."
John smiled at the sudden flash of memories of Dean when he was four just before Mary died using that same line when he was told it was bedtime. Damn it, he was depressing the hell out of himself.
"I know, dude. Use the inhaler, you're wheezin'."
Dean sighed loudly with crackles included, but sat up and glared at the dreaded inhaler his dad was holding out to him, "I wasn't wheezin'." He complained.
John snorted, "How would you know? You were asleep." Dean still refused to take the spray out of his hand and John contemplated just shoving the damn thing down his kid's throat. Instead he sighed, "I'm tired, son. Just take the shit so we can go to sleep." Dean grabbed the inhaler and took a quick puff. "Two puffs." John ordered.
Dean rolled his eyes but took the second puff and then slapped it back in John's palm before flopping back down in bed.
The over exhausted hunter didn't bother with goodnights, just left the room before he decided to commit murder.
SPN
Breakfast was a tense event Bobby noted. All three Winchesters looked mean as hell from lack of sleep. Dean had kept his little brother up with all his hacking and coughing which led to John being up to force more medicine down his throat. Dean sat seething with his fist clenched on the table after his father had just shot him down again when he attempted to change his mind about letting him go. As John and Bobby discussed what John's plans were Dean felt an anxious churning in his gut that was quickly rising up through his chest and finally, violently out his mouth,
"You makin' me stay here is bullshit!" He erupted as he slammed his fist down on the table effectively ceasing all conversation at the table. "I'm not-"
Before he could get anything else out of his mouth his dad was dragging him out of his chair by his shirt and pushing him through the kitchen and out the back door. Dean had a hard time keeping his footing as John plowed through the backyard towards the garage. John yanked the door open of the building and then slammed it shut after pushing his son through.
Once let go, Dean quickly turned towards his dad still seething and not appreciating the fact that he was being manhandled. Both Winchesters stood with their chests puffed out, sizing each other up.
John couldn't believe his kid was showing as much disrespect as he was- Dean had never once acted this way.
"I don't know what the hell has gotten into you," John growled as he reached down to his belt buckle, "but I ain't gonna tolerate it."
Dean was so beside himself with anger he didn't even flinch as Dad hastily got his belt free of his jeans.
He didn't protest as Dad roughly grabbed his shoulder and turned him so he was facing the workbench and bent him over it.
Dean did flinch though when the first lick created an immediate line of fire across his ass.
John was silent as he reared his arm back and brought the strip of leather down on his son's backside. This was long over-due. The kid had been asking for it since he was released from the hospital. Well, John was going to deliver.
Dean grunted loudly as the licks kept coming but even if it hurt Dad didn’t make him drop trou like he normally would have and he wasn’t swinging as hard either. After ten or so he finally decided that his mouth wasn't worth his ass being blistered.
"Ok!" He shouted, ‘cause damn Dad had a hell of a swing.
John stopped mid stroke and let his arm fall to the side of his leg, "I'm not leaving you here to torture you, Dean. I'd rather have a second pair of eyes but you're still sick."
"It's just a cold." Dean retorted.
John whacked his son with the belt again, "It's not just a cold, Dean! It's fuckin' Pneumonia! You could die from it. I'm not gonna lose you because you're too damn stubborn."
And Dean really wanted to say, and where do you think I get it from? But he smartly kept his mouth shut. It would guarantee loosing his jeans; yeah, no thanks.
Dad's words hit Dean and he lost his anger. "Ok, I get it, Dad. I'm sorry." he replied and tried to get up.
"Uh huh, I'm glad you got it, Dean," John said as he pushed Dean back down, "but we're not done here."
"C'mon, Dad, I said I was sorry!"
"Yeah, well, the way I see it, you've had this comin' for all the lip you've been given me. You just sit tight, bud."
Dean groaned but was able to get through the last ten licks Dad laid. It wasn't by far the worst whippin' his Dad had doled out but if Dean wanted to be honest he was feeling like shit anyways.
Finally, Dad let him up and he quickly wiped his eyes while John put his belt back on.
"Look at me, Dean." John ordered and waited for the watery green eyes to lock into his own. "You need to get your shit together, son. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir." Dean sniffed.
John put a hand on his son's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze, "I'm happy that you wanna come with me, Dean. I'd rather have you boys with me but you dyin' ain't worth it. I need you in top shape, so stay here with Bobby and get yourself better so you'll be ready to kick ass when I come back."
"I hate not bein' on the hunt with you." Dean admitted and swiped at his nose one last time. "I can't watch your back if I'm not there."
"I know, kid." John sighed and moved his hand from Dean's shoulder. "Let's go back inside so you can apologize to Bobby. I need to get goin' soon."
"Yes, sir."
When they got back inside John shoved Dean into a chair at the table making his son wince and then scowl. Bobby took the apology gracefully - as graceful as Bobby Singer got-
“Do it again, boy, I’ll kick your ass.” Was the gruff response as Bobby folded his paper in half in search of the funnies with a mumbled; made me spill my damn coffee.
“Yes, sir.” Dean smirked.
John quirked an eyebrow towards his youngest, “Do I need to straighten you out before I leave, Sammy?”
“What?” Sam squeaked. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
Dad winked at him, “I know, bud.”
Sam huffed, crossed his arms and gave his Sammy Signature Bitchface, “Not funny, Dad.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Don’t get your panties in such a twist, twerp.”
“Shut up, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“Really?” John sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, “I’m standin’ right here, boys.”
After getting his duffel together John gave death threats to anyone who didn’t act like they had sense while he was gone and then gave both his boys a quick shoulder squeeze before leaving for his hunt.
Author: Fox
Characters: John, Dean, Sam, & Bobby
Implement: Belt [this part]
Summary: John leaves the boys with Bobby while he takes a hunt in Colorado so Dean can heal up from Pneumonia. When days go by without any word from John, Dean takes it upon himself to save his dad.
Prompt word was ‘dangerous’ from The Little Spanko's 25 Prompts
Word Count: 3,340 [this part]
Author’s Note: This is one story broken up into [?/?] parts. I’ll posting as I continue writing. So far I’ve gotten three parts written with a little more than half done (I think). Also, because it’s the Winchesters’ and because if they were real people they wouldn’t be PG-13, there’s course language. You’re warned.
One man and two boys were currently sitting at a small, out-of-the-way diner each with different expressions; the father had a weary, worn expression that held heavy eyes and haggard lines etched in his face.
The eldest of the two boys looked like a he might happily bite the head off of anybody who dared to even look at him wrong; his mouth screwed up in a humorless sneer, eyes hard, eye brows scrunched together.
The youngest looked like he was oblivious to whatever had the two older ones set on edge, happily digging into his dinner with gusto.
SPN
John Winchester rubbed a hand over his face, a soft scratching sound emitting as his palm roamed over unshaven territory on his chin. He was tired and his oldest boy, Dean, who was sixteen and full of piss and vinegar was testing his patience, which he supposed wasn’t hard to do, but that was beside the point.
They were on the way to Bobby’s so John could park the boys while he took a hunt in Colorado, that being the reason for his oldest attitude.
Looking at Dean, the paleness of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, sent John’s heart into overdrive.
Almost two weeks ago the Winchesters’ were in Washington dealing with a disgruntled spirit which ended with John and Dean digging up the dude’s bones to salt and burn while Sam sat in the Impala nursing a possible broken wrist. It was the middle of January and the father son duo froze their asses off as they dug the grave and wasn’t it just their luck that the clouds decided to open up? It was a good ten minutes of digging with numb fingers, grunting and a lot of son of a bitches! in the rain before they finally reached the coffin and was able to pry it open. After making sure the remains were charred John ushered Dean to the Impala where he promptly turned the heat up before heading for a motel.
The next day John noticed Dean had developed a cough but his oldest shrugged it of and he didn’t push the issue.
The father should have known better.
Within forty-eight hours Dean was put down hard with a wet, hacking cough and high fever. John made him stay in bed and tried to medicate his son himself but the fever seemed to spike even higher, high enough the kid was delirious, asking for his mom. The final straw was when Sam yelled for him as he was taking a shower. The man could hear the panic in his youngest voice sending him into Marine mode. He immediately jumped out of the shower and wrenched open the door as he wrapped a towel around his waist. What he was met with made his heart plummet to the floor; Sam was frantically leaning over his older brother as Dean wheezed and coughed, trying to get breaths that just refused to come.
John blindly threw on clothes as he gave orders to Sam to get the Impala cranked. As his youngest tore out of the motel room John tried to calm Dean down so he could get the boy moved. He had to pry the kid’s fingers from the sheets he had a death grip on and the scooped Dean up in his arms and hurried outside.
John drove like a bat out of hell while Sam tried to keep his older brother calm in the backseat, rubbing soothing circles on the rapidly rising and falling chest. Sam didn’t need to be told to go get help when they halted in front of the ER doors. He flew out the car as John got Dean out of the back seat. As soon as Dean was on a gurney they wheeled him back leaving John and Sam anxious in the waiting room.
Thirty minutes later a doctor came out and explained Dean had Pneumonia and the pus that built up in his lungs had caused respiratory problems.
John thought he should probably kick the kid's ass for not telling him how sick he really felt but then he would only be a hypocrite: yeah Dean knew better than to keep something about his health from him but John also knew better than to believe his oldest, stubborn child would tell him something was wrong. So who really needed their ass kicked?
Dean had spent four days in the hospital, complaining the whole time, until John finally took pity on his boy and signed him out AMA. Before being released though the doctor had explained that Dean didn't need to be exposed to the cold weather and it was extremely important that he take all of the antibiotics prescribed until he was one-hundred percent.
Ergo, the reason for traveling to South Dakota.
SPN
Back at the diner John watched as Dean poked at his half eaten burger with his fork, his son's way of trying to be rebellious in a not-in-your-face way because the in-your-face way was something his boys knew not to do unless they wanted to be knocked down a peg or two.
"Dean," John said, a slight warning in his voice. When he didn't get acknowledgment he tried again, "Dean." Firmer this time. He felt his blood pressure spike when he didn't get an answer. He leaned with his arms on the table and growled only loud enough for their table to hear, "Boy, if I have to say your name one more time me and you are gonna have problems."
That seemed to get a reaction out of his son as Dean sighed and raised his eyes to meet his father's, "Sir?"
"Quit playin' with your food and eat it." John ordered as he pointed at the bun and meat patty that was taking the fork assault.
"I'm not hungry." Came the curt reply.
"Tough. You need to eat with your meds." Which, for fuck's sake, took an act of Congress and a threat of bodily harm to get his son to take. Thankfully the boy wizened up and took a bite out of his holey burger.
"Dad?" Sam asked completely undeterred by his older brother's pissy-ness. John grunted his acknowledgement as he took a sip of coffee. "How long will the hunt in Colorado take?"
"I don't know, Sammy. A coupla days, a week tops. Why?"
The twelve year old shrugged his shoulders, "Just wonderin'."
"We should be going with you." Dean spat out.
God, why did his boys have to be so damn stubborn? 'Cause they're Winchesters'.
"Shut your mouth, Dean." John advised his son. "I'm not gonna argue with you about this anymore. You still aren't fully healed up and I'm not risking you having a relapse, it's just too dangerous." John's gruff way of saying how much he loved the kid and that he cared. "You keep pushin' the issue and we can make another stop and take care of it. You got me?"
Dean stabbed his burger again and sighed, "Yes, sir."
"Then finish eating. We have to get back on the road."
The drive to Singer's Salvage Yard wasn't any more pleasant but Dean managed to keep his mouth under control. John understood Dean's problem; the boy was a true Hunter. Relished in it in fact. He was a natural: strong, smart, and tactical. Dean was truly happy when they were on a case, hunting down whatever fugly that was plaguing humanity that week. His oldest son was gifted in the way of weapons and quick on his feet but the most important virtue was the reason behind all the natural talent; vengeance.
Unlike his youngest, Dean could remember his mother; fair skin, beautiful golden locks, sparkling green eyes - her burning on the ceiling in Sammy's nursery. Even at the age of four, with all the innocence in the world, the boy knew what happened to Mommy was just, wrong. Not that her dying was anything normal but even the act of death it wasn't right. That's all it took and the little boy turned into a skilled hunter.
They arrived at Bobby's just after midnight. Dean immediately jumped out of the car only giving a grunt of acknowledgement before pushing passed the older hunter into the house.
"Nice to see you too, Dean." Bobby grumbled as he watched the teen disappear up the stair case.
"Hey, Singer."
"I take it he's pissed about you leavin' them here?" Bobby commented as he took his hat off and scratched at his head.
"Yeah," John sighed as he guided a half asleep Sammy towards the house, "I'll make sure he's straightened out before I leave tomorrow."
Bobby shook his head as he followed the two Winchesters' inside, "Damn idjits." he muttered.
John managed to get Sammy upstairs without the kid breaking his neck trying to climb the stairs still mostly asleep. When they entered the boys room Dean was already stripped down to his boxers, laying on his stomach in bed with his face to the wall and gripping his pillow tightly. Sam quickly toed off his shoes, his eyes already shut, as John helped him out of his jeans and shirt. With his youngest situated and snoring lightly the father turned to his oldest who he knew wasn't asleep -no, not with that Kung Fu death grip on his pillow.
"Son, when you come downstairs in the mornin' I want that attitude gone."
Dean didn't show any sign that he heard his father except to grip his pillow harder. John wasn't a man who tolerated disrespect and usually he would have acted quickly and sufficiently to show the boy it was unacceptable but tonight...just-
Well, fuck it. He was too goddamned tired.
Giving up for the night John sighed and shut the door as he left. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where Bobby was sitting at the table with a beer waiting for him. He dropped down in a chair across from his friend and took the offered beer gratefully.
"Ya look like shit, Winchester." Bobby finally spoke up as he took in the man's weary face.
"Thanks, Bobby." John snorted and took a pull of his beer before continuing, "That kid is going to be the death of me."
"I cain't imagine he's had sunshine and rainbows shootin' out his ass."
John shook his head, "Dean's been fightin' me on everything and the little shit even turned us around once on purpose. I almost killed him two states back."
Bobby smirked at his friend's confession but the sobered when he remembered the reason the boys were staying with him, "He was real sick, huh, John?"
Fear overtook John's features before he reigned it in, "The kid couldn't fuckin' breath, Bobby. His fever spiked so high he was asking for, Mary." he rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, "Scared the hell outta me."
Bobby understood how serious the situation was just by the fact that John took Dean to the hospital. Because of CPS and do-gooder doctors who only got in the way, the Winchesters' usually avoided hospitals like the Plague and did Field Triage themselves. If John took his son to the ER it meant the kid's life was at stake, and damn if Bobby's chest didn't tighten when he got that call from his friend a couple of days earlier. Sam and Dean were like his boys too and it would kill him if anything happened to either one of them.
"I'm hittin' the sack, Bobby." John announced shaking the older hunter from his reverie. "Thanks for the beer."
"Not a problem."
John dragged himself up the staircase and before going to his own room stopped outside of the boys’ room to listen. He could hear Sammy's soft snore but louder than that was Dean's own wheezy exhale. John let his forehead thump quietly against the doorframe before he pushed himself off and went to his room to get his son's inhaler. Fuck, he just wanted to sleep. He searched through his duffel for the little orange and red spray contraption. Finding it he returned to the boys’ room and prepared himself to battle the will of his eldest child. As John opened the door Dean's wheezing became more prominent which worried him a little. His boy wasn't relapsing, right? God, he hoped not.
"Dean," John called out as he shook his son's shoulder.
"Hm?" Dean responded back. The fact that the boy didn't even open his eyes at the slightest sound like he normally would have sent a warning flag up in the father's mind.
"You need to take some meds, bud."
His hard as nails, cocky, smart mouthed sixteen year old actually whined, "Daad."
John smiled at the sudden flash of memories of Dean when he was four just before Mary died using that same line when he was told it was bedtime. Damn it, he was depressing the hell out of himself.
"I know, dude. Use the inhaler, you're wheezin'."
Dean sighed loudly with crackles included, but sat up and glared at the dreaded inhaler his dad was holding out to him, "I wasn't wheezin'." He complained.
John snorted, "How would you know? You were asleep." Dean still refused to take the spray out of his hand and John contemplated just shoving the damn thing down his kid's throat. Instead he sighed, "I'm tired, son. Just take the shit so we can go to sleep." Dean grabbed the inhaler and took a quick puff. "Two puffs." John ordered.
Dean rolled his eyes but took the second puff and then slapped it back in John's palm before flopping back down in bed.
The over exhausted hunter didn't bother with goodnights, just left the room before he decided to commit murder.
SPN
Breakfast was a tense event Bobby noted. All three Winchesters looked mean as hell from lack of sleep. Dean had kept his little brother up with all his hacking and coughing which led to John being up to force more medicine down his throat. Dean sat seething with his fist clenched on the table after his father had just shot him down again when he attempted to change his mind about letting him go. As John and Bobby discussed what John's plans were Dean felt an anxious churning in his gut that was quickly rising up through his chest and finally, violently out his mouth,
"You makin' me stay here is bullshit!" He erupted as he slammed his fist down on the table effectively ceasing all conversation at the table. "I'm not-"
Before he could get anything else out of his mouth his dad was dragging him out of his chair by his shirt and pushing him through the kitchen and out the back door. Dean had a hard time keeping his footing as John plowed through the backyard towards the garage. John yanked the door open of the building and then slammed it shut after pushing his son through.
Once let go, Dean quickly turned towards his dad still seething and not appreciating the fact that he was being manhandled. Both Winchesters stood with their chests puffed out, sizing each other up.
John couldn't believe his kid was showing as much disrespect as he was- Dean had never once acted this way.
"I don't know what the hell has gotten into you," John growled as he reached down to his belt buckle, "but I ain't gonna tolerate it."
Dean was so beside himself with anger he didn't even flinch as Dad hastily got his belt free of his jeans.
He didn't protest as Dad roughly grabbed his shoulder and turned him so he was facing the workbench and bent him over it.
Dean did flinch though when the first lick created an immediate line of fire across his ass.
John was silent as he reared his arm back and brought the strip of leather down on his son's backside. This was long over-due. The kid had been asking for it since he was released from the hospital. Well, John was going to deliver.
Dean grunted loudly as the licks kept coming but even if it hurt Dad didn’t make him drop trou like he normally would have and he wasn’t swinging as hard either. After ten or so he finally decided that his mouth wasn't worth his ass being blistered.
"Ok!" He shouted, ‘cause damn Dad had a hell of a swing.
John stopped mid stroke and let his arm fall to the side of his leg, "I'm not leaving you here to torture you, Dean. I'd rather have a second pair of eyes but you're still sick."
"It's just a cold." Dean retorted.
John whacked his son with the belt again, "It's not just a cold, Dean! It's fuckin' Pneumonia! You could die from it. I'm not gonna lose you because you're too damn stubborn."
And Dean really wanted to say, and where do you think I get it from? But he smartly kept his mouth shut. It would guarantee loosing his jeans; yeah, no thanks.
Dad's words hit Dean and he lost his anger. "Ok, I get it, Dad. I'm sorry." he replied and tried to get up.
"Uh huh, I'm glad you got it, Dean," John said as he pushed Dean back down, "but we're not done here."
"C'mon, Dad, I said I was sorry!"
"Yeah, well, the way I see it, you've had this comin' for all the lip you've been given me. You just sit tight, bud."
Dean groaned but was able to get through the last ten licks Dad laid. It wasn't by far the worst whippin' his Dad had doled out but if Dean wanted to be honest he was feeling like shit anyways.
Finally, Dad let him up and he quickly wiped his eyes while John put his belt back on.
"Look at me, Dean." John ordered and waited for the watery green eyes to lock into his own. "You need to get your shit together, son. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir." Dean sniffed.
John put a hand on his son's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze, "I'm happy that you wanna come with me, Dean. I'd rather have you boys with me but you dyin' ain't worth it. I need you in top shape, so stay here with Bobby and get yourself better so you'll be ready to kick ass when I come back."
"I hate not bein' on the hunt with you." Dean admitted and swiped at his nose one last time. "I can't watch your back if I'm not there."
"I know, kid." John sighed and moved his hand from Dean's shoulder. "Let's go back inside so you can apologize to Bobby. I need to get goin' soon."
"Yes, sir."
When they got back inside John shoved Dean into a chair at the table making his son wince and then scowl. Bobby took the apology gracefully - as graceful as Bobby Singer got-
“Do it again, boy, I’ll kick your ass.” Was the gruff response as Bobby folded his paper in half in search of the funnies with a mumbled; made me spill my damn coffee.
“Yes, sir.” Dean smirked.
John quirked an eyebrow towards his youngest, “Do I need to straighten you out before I leave, Sammy?”
“What?” Sam squeaked. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
Dad winked at him, “I know, bud.”
Sam huffed, crossed his arms and gave his Sammy Signature Bitchface, “Not funny, Dad.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Don’t get your panties in such a twist, twerp.”
“Shut up, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“Really?” John sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, “I’m standin’ right here, boys.”
After getting his duffel together John gave death threats to anyone who didn’t act like they had sense while he was gone and then gave both his boys a quick shoulder squeeze before leaving for his hunt.