And the Ground Shook (11/22)
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they own me.
Rating: Gen, with very mild language.
Category: Gen.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Hurt!Dean, John, Sam.
Summery: "You know what it is, you can get rid of it, right? You know how to get rid of it?" Dean asked, sounding suspiciously like a scared eight year old. "I mean, you can, right?"
Comments: Are loved and coveted.
Notes: Pre-series, AU. Not a deathfic. Lots of Dean-whumping, though. Will be updated regularly.
And the Ground Shook
Chapter Eleven - Unearthing the Truth (Part Two)
John sat in his son's bed, back resting against the headboard, his mind racing. Dean was out cold. The last time John had checked, his heart was beating far too fast. This couldn’t go on. Dean may be strong, but no one was invincible. Sooner or later, the Leech will drain him completely, killing him.
There were so many thoughts and emotions running through John's head. On the one hand, there was fear; terror really. The fear of losing his son. The pain of having to watch his baby boy go through this torture and knowing it was all his fault. He was the one who chose this life. He was the one who set his son on this path. He was the one that allowed Dean go on his own. Well, that's never going to happen again.
And then there was anger. What the hell was Dean thinking, hiding things from him? Hiding this? Why the hell didn’t he just come out and say 'Dad, I'm in trouble'? Why didn’t he just say someone, something, told him he had to do something he didn’t want to do, and threatened to kill him if he didn’t do it? Dean should have said something sooner! He could have figured it all out sooner, gone out after this thing and make it take that thing off his son's chest. He could have called Bobby and Jim and Caleb and Rick and everyone else, and get them to hunt this thing. Dean shouldn’t have lied, shouldn’t have kept it a secret.
John let out a breath, checking Dean's pulse again. It was still fast, but at least Dean seemed to be breathing more easily now. John scratched his head and got off the bed. He cleaned all the salt away, even the ring surrounding Sammy's bed, and took the protection symbols off- not wanting to take any more chances. He then went to the kitchen and started making soup; wishing for the first time he knew how to make one from scratch instead of from a can. But it would have to do. Dean had to eat something, he had to get his strength back.
John woke Dean up half an hour later, helping him drink some water. The affects of the sedative were still in his son's system, and Dean was practically putty, barely able to hold himself up long enough to swallow. John propped him up using all the pillows he could find, making him take tiny sips until he'd finished the entire glass of water. He tried to coax him to eat the soup, but Dean was too out of it by then. John was able to feed him a few spoonfuls before deciding that resting was probably a good idea. He removed the pillows, easing his son back down, and then took a sit by his side and kept watch.
It was at least four hours later when Dean started to stir, eyes flattering, trying to decide whether the waking world would be as kind as his drug-induced sleep. At the sound of Dean's tossing and turning, John lifted his eyes from the notes he'd been reading - the notes Dean supplied him with. It was the fifth time he's gone through them today, and even knowing what he knew now, the gaps were still too big.
Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, blinking a few times. "Dad?" John got up from his seat, sitting by his son's side.
"I'm right here, kiddo." He said, "How are you feeling?"
"Don’t want back in the hospital." Dean murmured, closing his eyes again.
"You think you can drink some more?" John asked. Dean hesitated.
"Don’t know." He said. "I'm so tired."
"I know," John said, reaching for a glass of water and coaxing his son to a few small sips. Dean coughed, turning his head away, and closed his eyes. John put the glass away, satisfied that Dean had actually drank something. "How are you feeling?" John asked, touching his hand to Dean's forehead.
"Tired." Dean said, "More than that. Like… I don’t know, drained." He admitted, "Like… someone sucked all the energy out of me." John straightened at that, raising a brow. He wondered how much Dean did know, how much he was keeping from him and how much was just guessing and experience.
"I know, kiddo." John said. "Your chest still hurts?" he asked. Dean shook his head lightly.
"Nah. Not really. Just some pressure, but it doesn’t hurt." He said. John nodded, feeling some of the weight leaving his shoulders.
"Good. That's good." He said, exhaling. "So now I can yell at you." Dean forced his eyes open, looking questioningly at his father. "Oh, I am going to yell." John said, the anger bubbling up to the surface now that the gnawing worry was subsiding. "I'm really angry with you, Dean. And disappointed." John clipped. Dean looked so small and exhausted that, for a moment, the worry overrode the anger. But just for a moment.
"Dad?"
"You lied to me, Dean." John snapped, raising his voice just a little. Dean blinked owlishly at him. "What the hell were you thinking?" he wasn’t yelling just yet. He wasn’t talking in a normal tone of voice, either. Dean frowned, looking a little uncertain.
"I heard you yell and then something breaking, I just wanted to check it out, I didn’t know…" Dean started explaining, his voice small and uncertain.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" John demanded, "You knew I'd figure it out eventually, why didn’t you tell me?" John was yelling now. Dean flinched, shaking his head slightly, and swallowed.
"Do we have to do this now?" he asked. John narrowed his eyes.
"You'd better believe it." He snapped impatiently. Dean squirmed in bed, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I know about the Leech. I know about the task, Dean, I know!" John growled out with frustration that sounded a lot like rage. Dean swallowed again, turning an even paler shade of white.
"Oh." He said. John blinked, trying his best to control his temper.
"Oh? That all you've got to say for yourself?" he demanded incredulously.
"Well, good. I guess." Dean drawled. John stared at him, shocked.
"Good?"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "You know what it is, you can get rid of it, right? You know how to get rid of it?" he asked, sounding suspiciously like a scared eight year old. "I mean, you can, right?" John scrubbed his face, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.
"Was it the woman?" John asked, "She a witch?" Dean frowned a little, his mind working a little slower than usual, but then nodded lightly.
"Maybe. I think so." He admitted, and John nodded back.
"What'd she want you to do?" John asked. Dean's frown deepened and he shifted in bed.
"I don’t remember." He said. "I don’t remember much from the hunt, I already told you that."
"Yes, and you lied!" John snapped. Dean swallowed, licking his chapped lips. It was getting too hard to keep his eyes open, and so he let them close, feeling consciousness slowly slipping away. His father must have noticed this, because the next moment there was a glass of water held to his lips, coaxing him to take another sip. Dean's vision was somewhat blurred, the world started swimming again and dark spots danced before his eyes like weird black snowflakes. He closed his eyes, letting out a small groan.
"Dean, you need to tell me the truth." John insisted and Dean grunted. He was too tired to for this. His father found his lack of answers exasperating. "This thing is time limited, Dean! You should have told me right away!" he clipped. Dean felt himself slipping away, and figured it might not be too bad, considering, but he knew his father will find a way to get him to talk, and that it probably won't be very gentle. He sighed, opening his heavy-lidded eyes half mast and looking at his old man.
"I didn’t remember right away." He admitted, and closed his eyes again. He was beyond exhausted. He heard the bed creak as his father got up, he heard footsteps as his father left, and then came back to the room, and then a glass was pressed to his lips again. Dean took a hesitant sip, not sure he could handle it. He coughed, choking, and pushed the glass away, making a disgusted noise.
"What the hell?"
"Sugar." John said. "Drink it, Dean. You need it." He said in a tone of voice that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Dean shook his head lightly, but managed another couple of sips, grimacing at the taste.
"And when you did remember?" John pushed, unwilling to let this one go. Dean sighed dramatically. "When the hell were you going to tell me, Dean? Huh?" John demanded, unrelenting. Dean pulled the covers up to his neck, but didn’t say anything. "Answer the question!" John demanded, raising his voice. Dean bit his lower lip, giving his father a long look.
"Never." Dean murmured. John's eyes widened.
"What?" he hissed, "What the hell does that mean?" he cried incredulously. Dean closed his eyes. He had said all he was going to say, admitted all he was going to admit. "Dean!" John yelled when his son failed to answer, but Dean remained silent. "The woman; was she a witch or was she possessed? What did this to you?" John wasn’t ready to let go. Dean licked his lips.
"Both, I think. I don’t know for sure." He said.
"What did she want?" John demanded. "What did she ask you to do?" he yelled. "I know she told you to do something! What. Did. She. Want?" Dean actually flinched at John's voice, but still didn’t answer. His head started to hurt and there was pressure building in his stomach. He put his arm over his face, feeling his heart beating harder, faster. He didn’t have the strength for this. "Answer the freaking question, Dean! That's an order!" John yelled, looming over his son. Dean peered at him from under his arm. He didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. He didn’t have the energy to keep secrets anymore.
"Sammy," he whispered. John blinked, stunned.
"What?" he asked, unable to suppress the little tremor in his voice.
"She wanted me to bring Sammy to her." Dean repeated, a little stronger this time, removing the arm from his face and looking defiantly at his father. "And I'm not going to. It's not an option!" he said vehemently. John was shocked into silence for a long moment and Dean put his arm over his eyes again.
John's face softened. He sat back by his son's side, running a hand through his dark hair. "Dean, if you don’t do what she told you to do, the Leech… it will…" the older Winchester shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Dean took a deep breath and looked at his father with watery eyes. He had to blink a few times to get his vision to focus, fighting the darkness away.
"I know." Dean said softly. There was no ounce of regret in his voice. No surprise, no hesitation. "I mean, she didn’t actually say anything, but I don’t really think she needed to. I…" he licked his lips again, swallowing, and cleared his throat. "I can feel it." He said.
John looked away. He had to look away. He couldn’t stand to just stand there and look at his firstborn as he admitted he knew he was going to die. Worse, as he admitted he wasn’t going to do anything to stop it. John clenched his fist, his jaw working hard. When he next looked at his son, his gaze was steel.
"How do I find her?" he asked in a husky voice. Dean's eyes snapped open. He looked intently at his father, shaking his head slightly.
"Dad, no." he whispered.
"I asked you a question." John said in an uncompromising tone. Dean shook his head again.
"No." he said, "If she catches you…" he swallowed. "Sam's gonna need someone to look after him, someone to take care of him. You can't go." Dean said. The older hunter just kept staring at him expectantly. "Dad, you can't!" Dean said, almost pleadingly.
"You don’t worry about me, just tell me where she is, I'll take care of it." John said firmly. Bobby said there was only one way to get the Leech off. Well, screw that. John's gonna find that witch and get her to get the Leech off his son. No matter what it took. He will protect his boys, no matter the price.
The younger hunter shook his head again, feeling his heart racing and his body screaming for reprieve, for rest.
"Dean, damn it, time's important here, don’t you understand? You don’t have any to spare, you hear me? Tell me where she is, it's an order!" John insisted.
"I can't!"
"Damn it, Dean, you tell me where she is! I order you to tell me where she is!"
"No, sir!" Dean cried, breathing hard, and then fell back against the pillow. He shook his head again. "I can't." he murmured. John narrowed his eyes. Seeing his son so weak and drained only strengthened his resolve.
"You can, and you will, you hear me?" John demanded. "That's a goddamn order! Tell me!" he yelled.
"Tell you what?" John sucked in his breath, startled, as his youngest came in the room. Sam tossed his schoolbag to the floor, his look going from his father to his brother and back. "Tell you what?" he asked again. There was a moment of tense silence before Dean smirked at his little brother.
"What I put in my lasagna." He said, "Sorry, Dad. That's a secret. Not gonna get it out of me." He added, giving John a meaningful look. "Now, if you guys don’t mind, I kinda want to pass out for a while, so keep it down, okay?" he muttered, feeling the tug of unconsciousness getting stronger.
"You look like hell." Sam observed. "You okay?"
"Just need sleep." Dean murmured. "I'm tired."
"Did you eat anything today?" Sam questioned. Dean shifted in bed, already half-gone. "Dean?"
"No. He slept most of the day." John answered instead. "We should let him sleep." He added, shepherding his youngest out of the room.
"Did he take his pills?" Sam demanded, "The ones for his stomach and kidneys, did he take them?"
"Later, Sammy. He needs to sleep now." John answered.
"Something happened, didn’t it?" Sam looked accusingly at his father. The older hunter sighed. There was no point lying to Sam. Dean looked far worse than he did that morning.
"Bobby called." The older hunter said. "He found out what that symbol is."
"And?"
"And your brother's in trouble." John finished reluctantly. "But I'm on it."
TBC
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