When It's Over 10/15
Okay, again, sorry for the wait. Work and school got in the way this time, lol. It will probably be a few days before the next update. My family's all up here for the weekend. :-D Everyone have a safe weekend, by the way! For those in the States, don't blow your hands off with fireworks or anything!
Oh, and just as a warning, I made myself cry with this chapter. I was in an emotional mood, but still. So if the end is kinda...mushy...blame it on hormones. :-D
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 10/15
Rating: R
Characters: Sam, Dean, Sarah
Spoilers: All of season one is fair game, but it's a future fic.
Notes: A future fic so it's definitely AU.
Warnings: Sadness and angst. Bring tissues.
Summary: After a horrible accident, Sam and Dean have to relearn what it is to be a family.
Chapter Ten
Dean could smell bacon and somewhere beyond the fog of near-consciousness, Bugs Bunny was arguing about hunting season with Daffy Duck. For a moment, and it was just a brief moment, Dean thought he was home. The only real home he’d ever known. The home where Mary Winchester would put a plate of bacon and eggs down in front of him and they’d curl up and watch cartoons until it was time to feed Sammy. He was four years old again and everything was perfect. Nothing could hurt him.
He wasn’t scared.
But that moment slipped by quickly as he remembered where he was and what he’d done. The horror of what he’d done. Hannah’s terrified face, the blinding grief afterwards, and some fuzzy images of Sam and Sam’s voice lingering without actually being heard. And when he remembered what happened, Dean thought about just keeping his eyes closed forever. Why did he have to wake up to this life? This life that was unfair, unpredictable, and unstable. He wished he could have something else. But he couldn’t really think of what.
The bed dipped and for a moment, Dean was confused. There was someone sitting at the end of his bed, but with what happened the previous night, he couldn’t understand who it was. It was too light to be Sam or Sarah, and why would the kids come back in here? Surely they were banned from his room forever now. Sam wouldn’t trust his children with a man who pointed guns at them. Hell, Dean didn’t trust himself to be with them anymore. How could he have done that? Jesus, why had he done that?
Curiosity got the better of him and he frowned before tugging his eyes open, realizing just how sore and puffy they still were. Damn, he hadn’t cried like that since he was a child. And even then, it had never really been that bad. Pushing away the thoughts of childhood, since they seemed to be getting him nowhere, Dean worked on focusing his vision and when he could see clearly, his eyes widened in surprise at what he found.
Hannah was sitting at the end of his bed. She was wearing a black t-shirt that Dean recognized. He’d sent it to her for Christmas last year. Her hair was pulled back into a braid and she had on ripped jeans. A regular metal-head. Good for her. She had a bowl of cereal balancing in her crossed legs as she was watching cartoons with an intense look on her face. Dean turned his head to the side, wondering where he’d smelled bacon, and was surprised to find a tray of food sitting on the table beside the bed.
Well, he hadn’t really been expecting that.
Dean had expected Sam to be standing over him, reaming him out for more things than Dean cared to think about. Or maybe Sarah standing in the doorway, his bags already packed, telling him to get out of her house. Or maybe even doctors in white suits here to take him away to some asylum where he belonged. Crazy, crippled Uncle Dean. That’s what he’d expected. Not this, breakfast in bed, “I’m safe when I sit at the foot of my awesome Uncle Dean’s bed” sort of treatment. It made no sense. Where the hell was Sam anyway?
Deciding that this needed further investigation, because it was entirely possible that he’d woken up in a different dimension, Dean slowly pushed the covers down, and then braced himself. When he had gathered up his strength, he pushed his upper body up, grimacing and gasping when pain laced up his spine. It took away his breath for a moment, the unexpectedness of the pain. Ouch, that hurt.
Hannah turned around upon hearing his grimace and Dean immediately straightened his face and pulled himself the rest of the way up, leaning against the headboard, ignoring the way his back was spiking with pain in rhythm with his heartbeat. It died down after a moment, to which Dean was eternally grateful. He hated that damn pain. But he masked it, because he didn’t want Hannah to see. The poor kid already had enough to worry about.
Quickly finishing off her mouthful of cheerios, Hannah put her bowl down and turned around so she was facing him, a grin on her face. “Morning Uncle Dean,” she chirped happily, again taking Dean by surprise. He looked around the room, wondering if he’d missed something. This kid was way too cheerful and warm to a person who’d nearly killed her the night before. “My Mommy made you breakfast and I brought it in here so you could eat it in bed. It might be kind of cold, but we can always put it in the microwave.”
“Uh…thanks,” Dean stammered, eyeing her as if he expected her to grow fangs and pounce any moment. Had she completely forgotten about the loaded gun he’d pointed at her face? Or the threat of, “You’re dead!” he’d screamed at her with venom.
“I’m wearing the t-shirt!” Hannah went on, seemingly unaware of Dean’s confusion. She crawled up the bed so she was sitting next to Dean’s legs, closer to him than he’d thought she’d ever get again. “Daddy says I look like a rock star. I think that would be fun, don’t you?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Sometimes I wish I could quite ballet and learn how to play the guitar, ooh, or the drums but Daddy says that there’s not enough Tylenol in the world for me to do that.”
Dean snorted despite himself. If indeed this wasn’t some alternate dimension he’d woken up into, he knew what he was going to get his niece for Christmas next year. A nice big drum set. It could be a family deal and he’d send Sam some earplugs. Speaking of Sam…
“Where’s your Dad?” Dean asked after clearing his throat. His throat felt scratchy. He wondered exactly how long he’d cried last night.
Hannah pouted and laid over Dean’s legs lazily. A spike of pain flashed through his heart when he realized he couldn’t feel her small body, but he quickly pushed that aside. Because quickly following at the heels of the pain was a tremendous relief and joy that Hannah was this comfortable around him, despite everything. He’d been grateful of her lack of a feeling to treat him like glass before, and he was ten times as grateful now. This is what he needed.
“Daddy had to go to work,” she told him, dejected. “He didn’t want to go, but Mommy made him. Mommy and me are holding down the fort,” she said the last part in a deep impression of a grown-up voice. Dean quirked a small smile. God, he loved this kid.
“He was probably pretty upset, huh?” Dean asked quietly, watching as Hannah eyed him. She seemed to be thinking about what to say to him.
Then she shrugged. “I guess,” she said, tracing the stitching on the quilt with her fingers. “But he didn’t seem mad.” Dean nodded, though he didn’t quite understand. Why the hell was no one mad? Dean knew he would be, if he wasn’t feeling so damn miserable about it all. But Hannah’s head lifted up slightly and she looked right at him, maturing a few years right in front of Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t tell them, you know.”
Dean frowned, unsure what she meant by that. “What?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t tell them what you said,” she whispered and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He looked into her eyes for any sign that she was afraid or upset at what had happened, but he couldn’t find any. “Daddy doesn’t like it when Danny, he’s the boy who lives down the street, points his dumb BB gun at me or Pat or Cam. He gets really mad and he calls Danny’s mom and Danny gets in trouble. I thought that you would get in trouble too if I told Daddy that you pointed it at me. So I didn’t tell them.”
Dean’s heart was beating quickly. He gripped the sheets covering his legs tightly and the two of them stared at each other for a moment, assessing each other’s moods. Dean finally whispered a quiet, “Hannah…” But the girl wouldn’t let him say anything.
“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, Uncle Dean,” she said pleadingly, like he had been about to yell at her for not telling. “Danny always gets really sad when he’s in trouble and I don’t want you to be sad anymore.” Dean felt his chest tighten up and his eyes burned slightly, but he held back the tears, as if he even had any left. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”
Smiling, trying to fight back the flood of emotion coursing through him, he reached out a hand and patted Hannah’s knee affectionately. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, brokenly. “But, that was a very…dangerous thing for me to do. And I shouldn’t have done it. No one should ever…do that.” He paused and found her looking at him intently. God, what was he doing? “You know I’d never hurt you,” he told her, voice stern and serious. She nodded in understanding. Good. “I was just…confused.”
“Were you having a bad dream?”
The flesh was torn from his body. Teeth sank into his skin. Sammy was somewhere screaming.
“Yes,” he said sullenly. “You startled me. I thought…I thought you were the bad guy,” he told her something she could relate to.
Hannah looked like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever. “I’m not the bad guy, Uncle Dean.” Then she looked thoughtful and she perked up. “I’m the sidekick, remember?’
Dean let out a small chuckle and grinned at her, truly grateful to have someone like this kid in his life. “Oh yeah,” he said. How was it that an eleven year old kid could make things seem not as bad as they really were? How could she be the voice of reason in all of this? It didn’t make sense, but then again, nothing was really making a lot of sense anymore to Dean. Things were beyond reason, so he guessed a child’s reasoning was good enough for him. “I forgot.”
“Silly,” Hannah giggled and reached out to grab Dean’s hands. She played with his fingers, feeling his ring and sizing their hands. It was something she’d always done as a toddler and the motion warmed Dean’s heart. He just watched her, letting her have her way with his hand. She looked up at him again and her face was a bit more cautious now. “I heard Mommy and Daddy talking today,” she told him quietly.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, wondering where this was going. She nodded.
“Were you really going to kill yourself, Uncle Dean?”
The question caught him off guard and immediately his entire body stiffened. He stared at her, Hannah’s soft brown eyes watching him, patiently waiting for some sort of answer. He didn’t know what to say. He was ready to protest, to tell her that there was no way in hell he’d ever do something like that. He’d practiced this speech so many times in his head over the past couple weeks, thinking about what he’d say if a nurse or someone caught on to his plans. But here, sitting in the bed, with Hannah still holding his hand, moving his fingers, trusting him even when he didn’t trust himself, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t tell her that he was okay, that he hadn’t planned on it. Because he had. He’d had it all planned out. From that first night in the hospital, it was always an option, just like Sam had said when they were teenagers. It was always a Plan B. And Hannah trusted him and she’d proven that he could trust her. And there were no secrets between them, because they were Uncle and Niece, Super Hero and Sidekick, right Uncle Dean? So he told her the truth.
“Maybe,” he answered. It was the most truthful thing he could say. He wasn’t sure if he would have actually gone through with it last night if Sam hadn’t come down and stopped him. He wasn’t sure what would have happened. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, that’s for sure.
Hannah frowned slightly, but it was more of a frown out of confusion than a frown out of anger or hurt. “How come?” she asked.
Yeah, how come? Huh, Dean? Tell her why. Why would you do that? Why would you go through with that? Why did you want things to end? Because you’re a cripple? So what? Tell her, Dean. Tell her.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, working up the courage. He swallowed nervously and looked her in the eye to say, “I’m scared, I guess.”
And there it was.
The god awful truth of it all. The reason Dean Winchester was ready to throw in the gloves. He was scared. Fucking scared. Not of what happened to him. Not really of what will happen to him. He was scared of what he wasn’t able to do. He was scared that he’ll let his brother down when he needs him. He was scared that he won’t be able to protect the people he loves. He was scared that he’ll be a burden on everyone, that he’ll become just another headache for Sam and for Sarah. That they’ll suddenly have a fourth child to take care of. He was scared of the way this child was looking at him, like he could take care of everything, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t take care of things. He couldn’t even take care of himself and that scared him. Fucking scared him shitless.
“Why are you scared?” Hannah asked. And Dean didn’t know how to tell her. He just shook his head and looked down at their hands. She squeezed his fingers and the motion was so mature he nearly broke down again right there and then. But he managed to hold himself together. “Is it because of what happened to you?” she whispered, as if it were some unspoken secret. He supposed it was. He guessed Sam and Sarah had told the kids not to mention it.
Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered back.
Hannah looked contemplative for a moment before she suddenly smiled. He frowned, wondering what she had in mind. “Stay right here,” she told him. He nodded his agreement, not really knowing where she thought he’d go to. She turned and jumped off the bed, running out of the room. Dean was a bit surprised at the sudden feeling of loneliness he felt as soon as she left. He sat quietly, staring at the door, waiting for her return. It took a couple minutes, but finally Hannah came racing back in, with something hidden behind her back.
When she crawled onto the bed, Dean caught sight of something furry in her hands but couldn’t quite see what it was.
“Okay,” she told him. “I have a present for you.”
“You do?” he played along.
Hannah nodded and brought out her present from behind her back. It was a teddy-bear, old and worn, raggedy, with an eye missing and a hole where its left ear should be. It was clear to Dean that at one time, it had been someone’s favorite toy. He looked up at Hannah after studying the bear for a moment and found her grinning. “Daddy gave me this bear,” she said. Dean looked back down at it. “Whenever I get scared, I hug this bear and it’s like I’m hugging my Daddy.”
An image of John flashed in front of Dean’s eyes and he felt tears swell up. It had been a while since he’d felt a longing for John’s comforting arms, for his soothing voice, for a pat on the back or a flash of a grin or even just a, “It’s okay, Dean,” from his father. It had been so long. And looking at the old bear, the rugged, worn, battle-scarred bear, it reminded Dean of John so much that he couldn’t help a tear that slipped down his cheek.
Hannah shoved the bear closer to him, guiding one of Dean’s arms around it so he was hugging it to his chest. “It really works,” she told him.
He could almost hear his father’s voice. “It’s okay, Dean.”
Dean let out a half sob half laugh and reached up to pet the teddy bear, watching as Hannah smiled warmly at him.
“I know it does,” he said.
Go to Chapter Eleven
Oh, and just as a warning, I made myself cry with this chapter. I was in an emotional mood, but still. So if the end is kinda...mushy...blame it on hormones. :-D
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 10/15
Rating: R
Characters: Sam, Dean, Sarah
Spoilers: All of season one is fair game, but it's a future fic.
Notes: A future fic so it's definitely AU.
Warnings: Sadness and angst. Bring tissues.
Summary: After a horrible accident, Sam and Dean have to relearn what it is to be a family.
Chapter Ten
Dean could smell bacon and somewhere beyond the fog of near-consciousness, Bugs Bunny was arguing about hunting season with Daffy Duck. For a moment, and it was just a brief moment, Dean thought he was home. The only real home he’d ever known. The home where Mary Winchester would put a plate of bacon and eggs down in front of him and they’d curl up and watch cartoons until it was time to feed Sammy. He was four years old again and everything was perfect. Nothing could hurt him.
He wasn’t scared.
But that moment slipped by quickly as he remembered where he was and what he’d done. The horror of what he’d done. Hannah’s terrified face, the blinding grief afterwards, and some fuzzy images of Sam and Sam’s voice lingering without actually being heard. And when he remembered what happened, Dean thought about just keeping his eyes closed forever. Why did he have to wake up to this life? This life that was unfair, unpredictable, and unstable. He wished he could have something else. But he couldn’t really think of what.
The bed dipped and for a moment, Dean was confused. There was someone sitting at the end of his bed, but with what happened the previous night, he couldn’t understand who it was. It was too light to be Sam or Sarah, and why would the kids come back in here? Surely they were banned from his room forever now. Sam wouldn’t trust his children with a man who pointed guns at them. Hell, Dean didn’t trust himself to be with them anymore. How could he have done that? Jesus, why had he done that?
Curiosity got the better of him and he frowned before tugging his eyes open, realizing just how sore and puffy they still were. Damn, he hadn’t cried like that since he was a child. And even then, it had never really been that bad. Pushing away the thoughts of childhood, since they seemed to be getting him nowhere, Dean worked on focusing his vision and when he could see clearly, his eyes widened in surprise at what he found.
Hannah was sitting at the end of his bed. She was wearing a black t-shirt that Dean recognized. He’d sent it to her for Christmas last year. Her hair was pulled back into a braid and she had on ripped jeans. A regular metal-head. Good for her. She had a bowl of cereal balancing in her crossed legs as she was watching cartoons with an intense look on her face. Dean turned his head to the side, wondering where he’d smelled bacon, and was surprised to find a tray of food sitting on the table beside the bed.
Well, he hadn’t really been expecting that.
Dean had expected Sam to be standing over him, reaming him out for more things than Dean cared to think about. Or maybe Sarah standing in the doorway, his bags already packed, telling him to get out of her house. Or maybe even doctors in white suits here to take him away to some asylum where he belonged. Crazy, crippled Uncle Dean. That’s what he’d expected. Not this, breakfast in bed, “I’m safe when I sit at the foot of my awesome Uncle Dean’s bed” sort of treatment. It made no sense. Where the hell was Sam anyway?
Deciding that this needed further investigation, because it was entirely possible that he’d woken up in a different dimension, Dean slowly pushed the covers down, and then braced himself. When he had gathered up his strength, he pushed his upper body up, grimacing and gasping when pain laced up his spine. It took away his breath for a moment, the unexpectedness of the pain. Ouch, that hurt.
Hannah turned around upon hearing his grimace and Dean immediately straightened his face and pulled himself the rest of the way up, leaning against the headboard, ignoring the way his back was spiking with pain in rhythm with his heartbeat. It died down after a moment, to which Dean was eternally grateful. He hated that damn pain. But he masked it, because he didn’t want Hannah to see. The poor kid already had enough to worry about.
Quickly finishing off her mouthful of cheerios, Hannah put her bowl down and turned around so she was facing him, a grin on her face. “Morning Uncle Dean,” she chirped happily, again taking Dean by surprise. He looked around the room, wondering if he’d missed something. This kid was way too cheerful and warm to a person who’d nearly killed her the night before. “My Mommy made you breakfast and I brought it in here so you could eat it in bed. It might be kind of cold, but we can always put it in the microwave.”
“Uh…thanks,” Dean stammered, eyeing her as if he expected her to grow fangs and pounce any moment. Had she completely forgotten about the loaded gun he’d pointed at her face? Or the threat of, “You’re dead!” he’d screamed at her with venom.
“I’m wearing the t-shirt!” Hannah went on, seemingly unaware of Dean’s confusion. She crawled up the bed so she was sitting next to Dean’s legs, closer to him than he’d thought she’d ever get again. “Daddy says I look like a rock star. I think that would be fun, don’t you?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Sometimes I wish I could quite ballet and learn how to play the guitar, ooh, or the drums but Daddy says that there’s not enough Tylenol in the world for me to do that.”
Dean snorted despite himself. If indeed this wasn’t some alternate dimension he’d woken up into, he knew what he was going to get his niece for Christmas next year. A nice big drum set. It could be a family deal and he’d send Sam some earplugs. Speaking of Sam…
“Where’s your Dad?” Dean asked after clearing his throat. His throat felt scratchy. He wondered exactly how long he’d cried last night.
Hannah pouted and laid over Dean’s legs lazily. A spike of pain flashed through his heart when he realized he couldn’t feel her small body, but he quickly pushed that aside. Because quickly following at the heels of the pain was a tremendous relief and joy that Hannah was this comfortable around him, despite everything. He’d been grateful of her lack of a feeling to treat him like glass before, and he was ten times as grateful now. This is what he needed.
“Daddy had to go to work,” she told him, dejected. “He didn’t want to go, but Mommy made him. Mommy and me are holding down the fort,” she said the last part in a deep impression of a grown-up voice. Dean quirked a small smile. God, he loved this kid.
“He was probably pretty upset, huh?” Dean asked quietly, watching as Hannah eyed him. She seemed to be thinking about what to say to him.
Then she shrugged. “I guess,” she said, tracing the stitching on the quilt with her fingers. “But he didn’t seem mad.” Dean nodded, though he didn’t quite understand. Why the hell was no one mad? Dean knew he would be, if he wasn’t feeling so damn miserable about it all. But Hannah’s head lifted up slightly and she looked right at him, maturing a few years right in front of Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t tell them, you know.”
Dean frowned, unsure what she meant by that. “What?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t tell them what you said,” she whispered and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He looked into her eyes for any sign that she was afraid or upset at what had happened, but he couldn’t find any. “Daddy doesn’t like it when Danny, he’s the boy who lives down the street, points his dumb BB gun at me or Pat or Cam. He gets really mad and he calls Danny’s mom and Danny gets in trouble. I thought that you would get in trouble too if I told Daddy that you pointed it at me. So I didn’t tell them.”
Dean’s heart was beating quickly. He gripped the sheets covering his legs tightly and the two of them stared at each other for a moment, assessing each other’s moods. Dean finally whispered a quiet, “Hannah…” But the girl wouldn’t let him say anything.
“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, Uncle Dean,” she said pleadingly, like he had been about to yell at her for not telling. “Danny always gets really sad when he’s in trouble and I don’t want you to be sad anymore.” Dean felt his chest tighten up and his eyes burned slightly, but he held back the tears, as if he even had any left. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”
Smiling, trying to fight back the flood of emotion coursing through him, he reached out a hand and patted Hannah’s knee affectionately. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, brokenly. “But, that was a very…dangerous thing for me to do. And I shouldn’t have done it. No one should ever…do that.” He paused and found her looking at him intently. God, what was he doing? “You know I’d never hurt you,” he told her, voice stern and serious. She nodded in understanding. Good. “I was just…confused.”
“Were you having a bad dream?”
The flesh was torn from his body. Teeth sank into his skin. Sammy was somewhere screaming.
“Yes,” he said sullenly. “You startled me. I thought…I thought you were the bad guy,” he told her something she could relate to.
Hannah looked like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever. “I’m not the bad guy, Uncle Dean.” Then she looked thoughtful and she perked up. “I’m the sidekick, remember?’
Dean let out a small chuckle and grinned at her, truly grateful to have someone like this kid in his life. “Oh yeah,” he said. How was it that an eleven year old kid could make things seem not as bad as they really were? How could she be the voice of reason in all of this? It didn’t make sense, but then again, nothing was really making a lot of sense anymore to Dean. Things were beyond reason, so he guessed a child’s reasoning was good enough for him. “I forgot.”
“Silly,” Hannah giggled and reached out to grab Dean’s hands. She played with his fingers, feeling his ring and sizing their hands. It was something she’d always done as a toddler and the motion warmed Dean’s heart. He just watched her, letting her have her way with his hand. She looked up at him again and her face was a bit more cautious now. “I heard Mommy and Daddy talking today,” she told him quietly.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, wondering where this was going. She nodded.
“Were you really going to kill yourself, Uncle Dean?”
The question caught him off guard and immediately his entire body stiffened. He stared at her, Hannah’s soft brown eyes watching him, patiently waiting for some sort of answer. He didn’t know what to say. He was ready to protest, to tell her that there was no way in hell he’d ever do something like that. He’d practiced this speech so many times in his head over the past couple weeks, thinking about what he’d say if a nurse or someone caught on to his plans. But here, sitting in the bed, with Hannah still holding his hand, moving his fingers, trusting him even when he didn’t trust himself, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t tell her that he was okay, that he hadn’t planned on it. Because he had. He’d had it all planned out. From that first night in the hospital, it was always an option, just like Sam had said when they were teenagers. It was always a Plan B. And Hannah trusted him and she’d proven that he could trust her. And there were no secrets between them, because they were Uncle and Niece, Super Hero and Sidekick, right Uncle Dean? So he told her the truth.
“Maybe,” he answered. It was the most truthful thing he could say. He wasn’t sure if he would have actually gone through with it last night if Sam hadn’t come down and stopped him. He wasn’t sure what would have happened. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, that’s for sure.
Hannah frowned slightly, but it was more of a frown out of confusion than a frown out of anger or hurt. “How come?” she asked.
Yeah, how come? Huh, Dean? Tell her why. Why would you do that? Why would you go through with that? Why did you want things to end? Because you’re a cripple? So what? Tell her, Dean. Tell her.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, working up the courage. He swallowed nervously and looked her in the eye to say, “I’m scared, I guess.”
And there it was.
The god awful truth of it all. The reason Dean Winchester was ready to throw in the gloves. He was scared. Fucking scared. Not of what happened to him. Not really of what will happen to him. He was scared of what he wasn’t able to do. He was scared that he’ll let his brother down when he needs him. He was scared that he won’t be able to protect the people he loves. He was scared that he’ll be a burden on everyone, that he’ll become just another headache for Sam and for Sarah. That they’ll suddenly have a fourth child to take care of. He was scared of the way this child was looking at him, like he could take care of everything, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t take care of things. He couldn’t even take care of himself and that scared him. Fucking scared him shitless.
“Why are you scared?” Hannah asked. And Dean didn’t know how to tell her. He just shook his head and looked down at their hands. She squeezed his fingers and the motion was so mature he nearly broke down again right there and then. But he managed to hold himself together. “Is it because of what happened to you?” she whispered, as if it were some unspoken secret. He supposed it was. He guessed Sam and Sarah had told the kids not to mention it.
Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered back.
Hannah looked contemplative for a moment before she suddenly smiled. He frowned, wondering what she had in mind. “Stay right here,” she told him. He nodded his agreement, not really knowing where she thought he’d go to. She turned and jumped off the bed, running out of the room. Dean was a bit surprised at the sudden feeling of loneliness he felt as soon as she left. He sat quietly, staring at the door, waiting for her return. It took a couple minutes, but finally Hannah came racing back in, with something hidden behind her back.
When she crawled onto the bed, Dean caught sight of something furry in her hands but couldn’t quite see what it was.
“Okay,” she told him. “I have a present for you.”
“You do?” he played along.
Hannah nodded and brought out her present from behind her back. It was a teddy-bear, old and worn, raggedy, with an eye missing and a hole where its left ear should be. It was clear to Dean that at one time, it had been someone’s favorite toy. He looked up at Hannah after studying the bear for a moment and found her grinning. “Daddy gave me this bear,” she said. Dean looked back down at it. “Whenever I get scared, I hug this bear and it’s like I’m hugging my Daddy.”
An image of John flashed in front of Dean’s eyes and he felt tears swell up. It had been a while since he’d felt a longing for John’s comforting arms, for his soothing voice, for a pat on the back or a flash of a grin or even just a, “It’s okay, Dean,” from his father. It had been so long. And looking at the old bear, the rugged, worn, battle-scarred bear, it reminded Dean of John so much that he couldn’t help a tear that slipped down his cheek.
Hannah shoved the bear closer to him, guiding one of Dean’s arms around it so he was hugging it to his chest. “It really works,” she told him.
He could almost hear his father’s voice. “It’s okay, Dean.”
Dean let out a half sob half laugh and reached up to pet the teddy bear, watching as Hannah smiled warmly at him.
“I know it does,” he said.
Go to Chapter Eleven