Fic: Battle Cry (Supernatural) Chapter 7b/10
This is chapter 7 of the fic Battle Cry. I ended up splitting it into two parts because of length, but it was sort of all one chapter really. Materpost is here. Chapter 1 is here.
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 1244
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 7: The Breaking Point (Pt. 2)
Bobby made his way down the yard to where Dean was now leaning against the Honda, metal rod in hand and staring into the sky.
"Feel better?"
Dean shrugged. "Not really."
Bobby frowned, hands on his hips. "What exactly was that inside?"
Dean turned to look Bobby in the eye. "You know what he said!" The anger was hot in his voice. "He wants to give up. We've been working-"
"We've been searching for something we don't even know exists without once asking Sam what he thinks about it, or wants."
"Bobby, he's just being a selfish little shit," Dean said. His voice was tired and frustrated. Bobby could tell he was only saying it to placate him, but Bobby wasn’t having it.
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you listen here," his voice was tight and Dean drew back a little. All Bobby could think of was Sam collapsing to the floor because he hadn't thought to tell them he was sick. Because being sick was tantamount to being weak, something a Winchester should never be. He'd wait to tell Dean about Sam's fever though. He knew Dean wasn't really mad at his brother, not entirely. Adding the guilt that the boy would inevitably take on wouldn't help him work through what the real problem was. "Sam is a lot of things, but selfish ain't usually one of them. Care to tell me what that was really about?"
"I..." Dean hesitated. "I can't give up. Not yet. He's like that because I wasn't fast enough. He should never have been in danger in the first place."
Booby relaxed a little. He’d suspected something of the sort. "Son, I don't think he's blaming you."
"You don't understand!” Dean said. “This whole thing is my fault."
He said this with such conviction, Bobby was surprised into asking, "Why would you think that?"
"That night, Sam was saying something seemed off. He was sure dad was wrong about it being a witch. There was a witch, but we got the wrong cave. I didn't take us far enough. Then I missed when I tried to shoot it. I put Sam in danger and I couldn't even protect him." Dean took another whack at the car he was leaning against.
Bobby swore and grabbed the pipe away from him. "Of all the pig headed, idiotic, bull shit I've ever heard, that takes the cake."
Dean sagged against the car at his words. It was hard sometimes to remember that Dean was nineteen. He was old enough to fend for himself and was almost an adult, but was also still just a teenager. He might have ended up raising Sam, but he was really only a few years older than his kid brother. In that moment, Dean looked like a scared little kid. "But Bobby,” he said. “Sam knew something wasn't right and I brushed it off. I thought he was being a little bitch about his test the next day and needed to get his head in the game.”
Bobby sucked in a steadying breath. "Dean,” he said, forcing all the calm he had into his voice. “Has Sam ever shown any signs of being psychic?"
"What," Dean asked confused. "No. Of course not. Psychics aren’t even real."
"So, you’re saying there's no reason to think he was being anything other than a whiny teenage boy."
"But-"
"Stow it. There weren't any reason to think anything out of the usual was going to happen. Sam said it was fast. Unless you've gotten to be a whole hell of a lot better of a shot, I doubt you could hit a fast moving target in the dark. It's not your fault."
"But-"
"Dammit, boy. No one could have known. Not you, not John, not Sam. It happened. Now what are you going to do about it? Because standing out here smashing things is not going to help anyone."
"But he wants to quit." Dean said in a small voice.
"Did he ever tell you he was quitting?" Bobby asked.
"He said he was done with the rituals. You were there, Bobby."
"Dean,” Bobby said. He crossed his arms and waited till Dean looked him in the eye. “Have you talked to Sam about any of this?" He made a vague gesture towards the house.
"Course,” Dean said with a careless shrug. “I told him we were going to fix it."
"That's not what I mean. Have you talked to him about anything else? How is he coping? What have you considered doing if we can't fix this?"
"He's fine,” Dean said defensively. “He's been fine. He just can't talk."
Bobby shook his head. "Dean, you're an idiot if you think he's fine."
"He is."
"No he's not. He's just had his world flipped upside down. Both of you have. You can't tell me that you wouldn't be a little freaked out in his shoes. Hell, you're freaked out now."
"He's seemed fine."
"And I guess you've done the same job listening to him these past few weeks as you did this afternoon. You know that boy bottles up everything until it comes spewing back out."
"He's still saying he wants to quit looking."
"Hell, boy. He just had to jump naked over a bed of coals at midnight in October. I'd be ready for a break too! Why don't you ask Sam why he wants to stop?"
"I did,” Dean said.
"No you jumped down his throat."
Dean leaned back against the car with a defeated sigh. "You're right. But I don't understand what’s gotten into him."
Bobby shrugged and leaned back next to Dean. "Sam's the one who has answers. Not me."
They fell silent as Dean considered this. After a long pause, he pushed off of the car and turned towards the house. "I should go talk to him."
Bobby shook his head. "Let the kid rest."
Dean scowled. "Just because he can't talk doesn't make him an invalid suddenly."
"No, but that fever means he'll be out of it for a while."
Dean jerked back around to face Bobby, face tense. "Fever?"
"Relax, Dean. I gave him some Tylenol and made him lay down on the couch. He's fine. Probably last night didn't help anything."
Dean glared at Bobby and rushed back up to the house.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Bobby muttered under his breath. He couldn't begrudge Dean. He knew how close the brothers were.
By the time he trudged up the hill and back into the house, Dean had made himself comfortable in a chair next to the couch with the newspaper he had been reading earlier. Sam was tucked up under the covers with Rumsfeld laying in the hollow behind Sam's bent knees. The dog perked his ears up when Bobby entered, but otherwise didn't stir.
Bobby was glad Sam had managed to find a comfortable position. He was too long to really sleep on the couch anymore. He was only fifteen and was threatening to pass up Dean any day now. Bobby was sure he was going to tower over all of them eventually.
Bobby decided he'd better go put some coffee on. He had a feeling he was in for a long night. He half hoped John stayed disappeared to whatever corner he'd hidden himself in for the next few days. He wasn't in the mood to deal with another Winchester, especially not one prone to doing stupid things.
<< Masterpost Chapter 8>>>
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 1244
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 7: The Breaking Point (Pt. 2)
Bobby made his way down the yard to where Dean was now leaning against the Honda, metal rod in hand and staring into the sky.
"Feel better?"
Dean shrugged. "Not really."
Bobby frowned, hands on his hips. "What exactly was that inside?"
Dean turned to look Bobby in the eye. "You know what he said!" The anger was hot in his voice. "He wants to give up. We've been working-"
"We've been searching for something we don't even know exists without once asking Sam what he thinks about it, or wants."
"Bobby, he's just being a selfish little shit," Dean said. His voice was tired and frustrated. Bobby could tell he was only saying it to placate him, but Bobby wasn’t having it.
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you listen here," his voice was tight and Dean drew back a little. All Bobby could think of was Sam collapsing to the floor because he hadn't thought to tell them he was sick. Because being sick was tantamount to being weak, something a Winchester should never be. He'd wait to tell Dean about Sam's fever though. He knew Dean wasn't really mad at his brother, not entirely. Adding the guilt that the boy would inevitably take on wouldn't help him work through what the real problem was. "Sam is a lot of things, but selfish ain't usually one of them. Care to tell me what that was really about?"
"I..." Dean hesitated. "I can't give up. Not yet. He's like that because I wasn't fast enough. He should never have been in danger in the first place."
Booby relaxed a little. He’d suspected something of the sort. "Son, I don't think he's blaming you."
"You don't understand!” Dean said. “This whole thing is my fault."
He said this with such conviction, Bobby was surprised into asking, "Why would you think that?"
"That night, Sam was saying something seemed off. He was sure dad was wrong about it being a witch. There was a witch, but we got the wrong cave. I didn't take us far enough. Then I missed when I tried to shoot it. I put Sam in danger and I couldn't even protect him." Dean took another whack at the car he was leaning against.
Bobby swore and grabbed the pipe away from him. "Of all the pig headed, idiotic, bull shit I've ever heard, that takes the cake."
Dean sagged against the car at his words. It was hard sometimes to remember that Dean was nineteen. He was old enough to fend for himself and was almost an adult, but was also still just a teenager. He might have ended up raising Sam, but he was really only a few years older than his kid brother. In that moment, Dean looked like a scared little kid. "But Bobby,” he said. “Sam knew something wasn't right and I brushed it off. I thought he was being a little bitch about his test the next day and needed to get his head in the game.”
Bobby sucked in a steadying breath. "Dean,” he said, forcing all the calm he had into his voice. “Has Sam ever shown any signs of being psychic?"
"What," Dean asked confused. "No. Of course not. Psychics aren’t even real."
"So, you’re saying there's no reason to think he was being anything other than a whiny teenage boy."
"But-"
"Stow it. There weren't any reason to think anything out of the usual was going to happen. Sam said it was fast. Unless you've gotten to be a whole hell of a lot better of a shot, I doubt you could hit a fast moving target in the dark. It's not your fault."
"But-"
"Dammit, boy. No one could have known. Not you, not John, not Sam. It happened. Now what are you going to do about it? Because standing out here smashing things is not going to help anyone."
"But he wants to quit." Dean said in a small voice.
"Did he ever tell you he was quitting?" Bobby asked.
"He said he was done with the rituals. You were there, Bobby."
"Dean,” Bobby said. He crossed his arms and waited till Dean looked him in the eye. “Have you talked to Sam about any of this?" He made a vague gesture towards the house.
"Course,” Dean said with a careless shrug. “I told him we were going to fix it."
"That's not what I mean. Have you talked to him about anything else? How is he coping? What have you considered doing if we can't fix this?"
"He's fine,” Dean said defensively. “He's been fine. He just can't talk."
Bobby shook his head. "Dean, you're an idiot if you think he's fine."
"He is."
"No he's not. He's just had his world flipped upside down. Both of you have. You can't tell me that you wouldn't be a little freaked out in his shoes. Hell, you're freaked out now."
"He's seemed fine."
"And I guess you've done the same job listening to him these past few weeks as you did this afternoon. You know that boy bottles up everything until it comes spewing back out."
"He's still saying he wants to quit looking."
"Hell, boy. He just had to jump naked over a bed of coals at midnight in October. I'd be ready for a break too! Why don't you ask Sam why he wants to stop?"
"I did,” Dean said.
"No you jumped down his throat."
Dean leaned back against the car with a defeated sigh. "You're right. But I don't understand what’s gotten into him."
Bobby shrugged and leaned back next to Dean. "Sam's the one who has answers. Not me."
They fell silent as Dean considered this. After a long pause, he pushed off of the car and turned towards the house. "I should go talk to him."
Bobby shook his head. "Let the kid rest."
Dean scowled. "Just because he can't talk doesn't make him an invalid suddenly."
"No, but that fever means he'll be out of it for a while."
Dean jerked back around to face Bobby, face tense. "Fever?"
"Relax, Dean. I gave him some Tylenol and made him lay down on the couch. He's fine. Probably last night didn't help anything."
Dean glared at Bobby and rushed back up to the house.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Bobby muttered under his breath. He couldn't begrudge Dean. He knew how close the brothers were.
By the time he trudged up the hill and back into the house, Dean had made himself comfortable in a chair next to the couch with the newspaper he had been reading earlier. Sam was tucked up under the covers with Rumsfeld laying in the hollow behind Sam's bent knees. The dog perked his ears up when Bobby entered, but otherwise didn't stir.
Bobby was glad Sam had managed to find a comfortable position. He was too long to really sleep on the couch anymore. He was only fifteen and was threatening to pass up Dean any day now. Bobby was sure he was going to tower over all of them eventually.
Bobby decided he'd better go put some coffee on. He had a feeling he was in for a long night. He half hoped John stayed disappeared to whatever corner he'd hidden himself in for the next few days. He wasn't in the mood to deal with another Winchester, especially not one prone to doing stupid things.
<< Masterpost Chapter 8>>>