Shotgun 7/7: Saturday
Title: Shotgun (7/7)
Author: July
Rating: R
Genre: Gen, Pre-series, crossover with Friday Night Lights
Spoilers: 4.03 for Supernatural, FNL spoilers through the Pilot
Warnings: Violence and teenage boys.
Disclaimer: I asked Santa. The jolly bastard said no. Beware of canon dialog!
Notes: Sweet Charity fic for the lovely saberivojo. Beta’d by maychorian and kimmer1227. Now with ART by catsbycat.
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
FRIDAY NIGHT
SATURDAY
Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you.
By now you shoulda somehow how realized what you gotta do.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
Back beat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out.
I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, but you never really had a doubt.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
-“Wonderwall”, Oasis
The beeping of one of the machines changed rhythm, just for a moment, but it was enough to wake John up. He sat up in the hospital chair, grimacing as the skin on his back pulled the wrong way. Dean was still out and, in the bed next to him, so was Sam. The charge nurse, a non-nonsense woman named Corinna, had taken one look at them last night and shuffled them off to a private room with an extra bed. Then she’d promised to pray for them. Texas, he thought, who knows.
John needed a cup of coffee in the worst way. He’d grabbed two, maybe three hours of sleep. Dean’s surgery had gone smoothly, but the thought of somebody putting rods and screws into his son’s leg was enough to keep John awake most of the night. Sam had wanted to see the “way cool” x-rays, and then he’d crashed. Rods. In his leg. Big metal screws into the bone. John was pretty sure he’d aged at least ten years overnight.
“Mornin’.” Bobby was waiting in the doorway with, God love him, a hot cup of coffee. John made some sort of grunting noise in response and pulled himself to his feet.
“Talk to the cops?” John asked, gratefully accepting the Styrofoam cup. They stepped out into the hall, close enough that John could keep an eye on his boys.
“Yep. It was a tragic, tragic accident, Lamar’s truck crashing into your ambulance. Thank God you got the boys out when you did, otherwise you might have been caught in the conflagration.”
“And the C.O.D.?”
“Impact,” Bobby said quietly. “Coach Lamar wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The front of his skull was shattered.”
“And the bullet?”
Bobby reached into his vest and retrieved something. He extended his hand and opened it: a dented silver bullet lay in his calloused palm. John reached out, hands shaking, and held it between his thumb and forefinger. We did it, Mary. It’s over.
“They’re good boys,” Bobby said. “Both of them.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “They are.”
“All right, then,” Bobby said. “I’m heading back up tonight. You come see me again, I probably won’t shoot at you.”
“That’s very generous.”
“Be seeing you, Winchester.” He clapped John on the shoulder and turned to go.
“Wait,” John said. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks, Bobby. Thank you.”
“It’s what you do.” Bobby shrugged. “Tell Dean he played a hell of a game last night.”
“Will do.”
“Don’t any of you be strangers.”
John pocketed the bullet, watched him walk down the hall, and wondered exactly how many pro bono labor hours he owed Bobby at this point. He hated to be in anyone’s debt. Let alone the guy who’d once run him off with a shotgun. He took another sip of coffee and decided to fight that battle another day. John turned back to the room and leaned up against the doorjamb.
He couldn’t believe how young they looked. During the day, Sam was all opinions and Dean was all responsibilities, but right now, like this, they looked their age. Dean, especially, with his IV, his nasal canula, the white gown and the gold amulet, the pulse monitor and the mangled leg. They’d put a cast on in a couple days, once they were sure nothing was infected, once they were sure the blood supply was adequate, once they were sure he was going to keep the leg. Right now, he was wearing this complicated boot apparatus that supposedly kept the swelling down and monitored blood flow. They didn’t want to have to amputate, they said.
John put his hands in his pockets. There were times when he felt like he’d fucked up beyond belief. John hoped to God this was not one of those times.
“Mr. Winchester?” It was the guy from last night, the one who waited with John outside the training room. He looked like he hadn’t slept, either. His polo was wrinkled and his hair looked like it was trying to liberate itself from his scalp.
“Coach Taylor.”
“Yes, sir.” They shook hands. “Is Dean up?”
“No, uh, not yet. They ended up having to do the surgery last night and then it went on for a while.”
“Hell,” Coach said. “Listen, I’m sorry nobody came up to see you last night. I woulda been out here first thing, but there was a bit of a brouhaha.”
“I can imagine,” John said dryly. “You know he’s out for the season.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about football,” Coach said, put his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to say that your son is something else. He really is. His vision is incredible and he reads defenses like a pro. And God knows he has fire in the belly. Now, this is gonna hurt his scholarship bids, but I want you to know that I will call anyone and everyone I know to get him a walk on this summer, if that’s what he wants.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll let him know.”
“You call me if you need anything,” Coach said. “Day or night. And if I can’t get it, I’ll lean on Buddy.”
“Thank you,” John said, the second time that morning. “Dean…Dean’s been real lucky to have you as his coach.”
“He’s a gifted athlete. It’s been my pleasure.” They shook hands and Coach Taylor saw himself out. John turned back towards Dean’s room.
“Dad?” Sam was waiting for him in the doorway.
“You sleep okay?” John asked.
“Yeah, I did. I think Dean’s waking up. Should we get a nurse?”
“Nah. Let’s wait a minute.” It didn’t take long, just a couple more minutes until Dean rubbed at his eyes, yawned, and realized he was in a hospital room.
“Fuck this shit,” he groused, taking in the gown and the crappy sheets. Dean looked a little loopy still, somewhere between last night’s morphine drip and the hydrocodone he hadn’t started yet.
“Language,” John said. “How you feeling, dude?”
“Fine, I guess. My leg feels like it might fall off,” Dean said, looking down his body. “Oh God. Please tell me I don’t have a-“
“Catheter. Yep.”
“Not cool,” Dean groaned. “Not cool. Where’s the button-thingy? I want to at least be able to sit up, here.”
“I got it,” Sam said, bringing Dean’s bed up to about sixty degrees. “Billy brought you a get-well-soon gift.”
Dean looked over at the side table. “Is that a six-pack?”
“Classy friends you got,” Sam said, smiling.
“You sleep okay?” Dean asked. “You should get breakfast. I bet they have Lucky Charms in the cafeteria.”
“I’m good,” Sam said.
“Are you sure?” John asked. “Your brother and I have some things to talk about.”
“Sam stays.” Without warning, Dean’s voice was straight sober. “We talk, we talk together.”
“Dean-“ John started.
“I don’t know if you noticed, Dad, but Sam’s as much a part of this as we are,” Dean said.
“I’m not leaving,” Sam announced. “I won’t.”
“Okay,” John sighed and took a seat. “Shut the door. And grab a chair. We’ll do this together, Dean. In the ambulance you said something…do you remember that night?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I do.”
“What night?” Sam asked. There was a long silence.
“The night Mom died,” John said at last. It hurt every time. Every damn time. “We were in your nursery, all four of us. Mom knew something bad was going to happen.”
“How?”
“It’s a long story, Sam,” John started.
“We got time,” Dean said. John got the feeling that he was being held hostage for the most uncomfortable conversation of his life. Maybe Dean would share the drugs.
“Before we got married, your mom was very involved in, um, some off-color activities, not quite legal, morally grey activities.”
“Like what? Stripping?”
“No!” John said, shooting a look at Dean. “Your mother was not a stripper!”
“Was she a criminal, too?” Sam asked.
“No! Your mother was not a criminal! And what do you mean, ‘too’?”
“I just figured that’s what you did,” Sam said. “You only have a sort-of-real job at Buddy’s, you’re always traveling, and you bring home cash, sometimes, but never a paycheck. I just figured you were knocking over liquor stores.” Dean was staring at him, open-mouthed. “What?”
“Wait,” John said. “You think I’m a thief, and we live in a one-bathroom ranch in Dillon?”
“I never said I thought you were a good thief.”
“I’m not a thief!”
“In Sammy’s defense, I used to think you were a spy. Why else would you have six different licenses and new, fake credit cards each month?”
John was actually speechless. Dean shrugged.
“Seriously, you’re not half as stealthy as you think you are. I’ve known since I was ten.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, that’s when you started to take longer trips, left Sam with me for longer. One night, you came home from Jim’s with a busted ankle, and you forgot to put your journal up before you crashed. I found it. And then I read it. And then all the ID’s and all the cards made sense.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” John asked. Dean looked away.
“We never talked about that night. I just figured you were waiting for me to be ready. I figured you’d tell me everything when you thought I deserved to hear it.”
“Dean.” John put his head in his hands. This is one of those times.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Dean said. “I understand.”
“No, Dean,” John ran his hand down his face. “You shouldn’t have to-it wasn’t that. Mom didn’t want this for you. For either of you. She knew what it was like, and she didn’t want it for you. That’s why I never told you.”
“She knew?” Dean whispered. “Oh my God. Mom was a hunter?”
“She hunted?” Sam asked. “What does that have to do with what happened in Lawrence?”
“Not like deer hunting,” Dean said. “She hunted stuff like the thing from last night. Mom knew it was coming for us.”
“She did.” John cleared his throat. “She told me about it. I wasn’t sure I could even believe her. But we waited up there, together, the four of us. She didn’t want you to be alone, Dean, in case it wanted you. Anyway, it came. And we couldn’t stop it.”
“It killed Mom,” Sam said.
“And then the house caught fire,” Dean finished. John couldn’t trust himself to speak. “Dad handed you to me, Sammy. He told me to take you outside and not look back.”
“I didn’t know you remembered.” It sounded lame, even to him.
“You never asked.”
“What was it? The thing inside Coach Lamar?” Sam asked.
“A demon, a very old demon.”
“What did it mean about me? And the children like me?”
“Sam…” John leaned over and studied the floor. I’m so sorry, Mary. I can’t do this. Not today. I’m so sorry.
“Dad, are you alright?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just a little tired. Hey, son, would you...would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Sam said.
“And pick up a nurse on your way back,” Dean added. “I’m ready for my happy pill.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam stood up, looked hard at Dean like maybe he was faking it. John looked at him, too, and decided he probably wasn’t. Shit. He should have made sure the kid got some painkillers before this got underway. Dean turned back to his dad the second Sam was out of the room.
“We don’t have to have that conversation right now. But I was there. I saw the blood. We’re gonna have that conversation soon.”
“Okay,” John whispered. “I’m sorry, it’s just-“
“What is it?”
“Dean, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have had to... Last night. I’m sorry you had to do that. I put too much on your shoulders. You take care of Sammy, you take care of me. You do that. And you don’t complain. Not ever. And last night. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you.”
“Why are you saying this stuff?" Dean looked at him like he'd grown a third eye. "You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared, Dean.”
“Okay.”
“Um, I have something for you,” John cleared his throat. “You know, when I was seventeen, I started getting into trouble at school. Got picked up by the cops a couple of times. And my old man, he made my life a living hell. Didn’t know me. Didn’t trust me. You know what I did? I joined the Marines on my eighteenth birthday.”
“Jesus. I just, I always thought it was the draft.”
“Nope. I picked up and I left because I couldn’t find one damn reason to stay.”
“So this…”
“This is your reason.” John reached into his jacket and tossed the contents of his pocket to Dean.
“Holy shit.” Dean stared at the keys to the Impala.
“The keys are yours but the pink slip is mine. You’ll get it with your diploma.”
“I. Dad. I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’ll enjoy that while it lasts. Look, your mom wanted you to have a normal life, or at least a choice. If you want to go to college, we’ll make that happen. Sammy and I, we’ll move with you. It doesn’t matter where. Dean, I just don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving, Dad.”
“I meant what I said, Dean. About last night."
“Nurse is on her way!” Sammy announced, entering the room in victory. John and his eldest cleared their throats and found a reason to avoid Sam’s eyes for a moment. Sam, for his part, sat next to his big brother on the hospital bed, and offered him some dry Lucky Charms. John took the cup of coffee he’d brought with him and sipped it quietly while his sons argued over which color marshmallow tasted the best.
Corinna, the formidable nurse from last night, walked in briskly, asked Dean a few questions, fussed over him a little, took his vitals, and handed him the Vicodin. She reminded John what a brave son he had. She noted everything on Dean’s chart and updated the date:
November 2, 1996.
Today was gonna be the day, but they’ll never throw it back to you.
By now you shoulda somehow realized what you’re not to do.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
And all the roads that lead you there were winding.
And all the lights that light the way are blinding.
There are many things that I would like to say to you,
But I don’t know how.
I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me.
And after all, you’re my wonderwall.
No spoilers past 4.10, please!
Author: July
Rating: R
Genre: Gen, Pre-series, crossover with Friday Night Lights
Spoilers: 4.03 for Supernatural, FNL spoilers through the Pilot
Warnings: Violence and teenage boys.
Disclaimer: I asked Santa. The jolly bastard said no. Beware of canon dialog!
Notes: Sweet Charity fic for the lovely saberivojo. Beta’d by maychorian and kimmer1227. Now with ART by catsbycat.
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
FRIDAY NIGHT
SATURDAY
Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you.
By now you shoulda somehow how realized what you gotta do.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
Back beat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out.
I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, but you never really had a doubt.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
-“Wonderwall”, Oasis
The beeping of one of the machines changed rhythm, just for a moment, but it was enough to wake John up. He sat up in the hospital chair, grimacing as the skin on his back pulled the wrong way. Dean was still out and, in the bed next to him, so was Sam. The charge nurse, a non-nonsense woman named Corinna, had taken one look at them last night and shuffled them off to a private room with an extra bed. Then she’d promised to pray for them. Texas, he thought, who knows.
John needed a cup of coffee in the worst way. He’d grabbed two, maybe three hours of sleep. Dean’s surgery had gone smoothly, but the thought of somebody putting rods and screws into his son’s leg was enough to keep John awake most of the night. Sam had wanted to see the “way cool” x-rays, and then he’d crashed. Rods. In his leg. Big metal screws into the bone. John was pretty sure he’d aged at least ten years overnight.
“Mornin’.” Bobby was waiting in the doorway with, God love him, a hot cup of coffee. John made some sort of grunting noise in response and pulled himself to his feet.
“Talk to the cops?” John asked, gratefully accepting the Styrofoam cup. They stepped out into the hall, close enough that John could keep an eye on his boys.
“Yep. It was a tragic, tragic accident, Lamar’s truck crashing into your ambulance. Thank God you got the boys out when you did, otherwise you might have been caught in the conflagration.”
“And the C.O.D.?”
“Impact,” Bobby said quietly. “Coach Lamar wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The front of his skull was shattered.”
“And the bullet?”
Bobby reached into his vest and retrieved something. He extended his hand and opened it: a dented silver bullet lay in his calloused palm. John reached out, hands shaking, and held it between his thumb and forefinger. We did it, Mary. It’s over.
“They’re good boys,” Bobby said. “Both of them.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “They are.”
“All right, then,” Bobby said. “I’m heading back up tonight. You come see me again, I probably won’t shoot at you.”
“That’s very generous.”
“Be seeing you, Winchester.” He clapped John on the shoulder and turned to go.
“Wait,” John said. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks, Bobby. Thank you.”
“It’s what you do.” Bobby shrugged. “Tell Dean he played a hell of a game last night.”
“Will do.”
“Don’t any of you be strangers.”
John pocketed the bullet, watched him walk down the hall, and wondered exactly how many pro bono labor hours he owed Bobby at this point. He hated to be in anyone’s debt. Let alone the guy who’d once run him off with a shotgun. He took another sip of coffee and decided to fight that battle another day. John turned back to the room and leaned up against the doorjamb.
He couldn’t believe how young they looked. During the day, Sam was all opinions and Dean was all responsibilities, but right now, like this, they looked their age. Dean, especially, with his IV, his nasal canula, the white gown and the gold amulet, the pulse monitor and the mangled leg. They’d put a cast on in a couple days, once they were sure nothing was infected, once they were sure the blood supply was adequate, once they were sure he was going to keep the leg. Right now, he was wearing this complicated boot apparatus that supposedly kept the swelling down and monitored blood flow. They didn’t want to have to amputate, they said.
John put his hands in his pockets. There were times when he felt like he’d fucked up beyond belief. John hoped to God this was not one of those times.
“Mr. Winchester?” It was the guy from last night, the one who waited with John outside the training room. He looked like he hadn’t slept, either. His polo was wrinkled and his hair looked like it was trying to liberate itself from his scalp.
“Coach Taylor.”
“Yes, sir.” They shook hands. “Is Dean up?”
“No, uh, not yet. They ended up having to do the surgery last night and then it went on for a while.”
“Hell,” Coach said. “Listen, I’m sorry nobody came up to see you last night. I woulda been out here first thing, but there was a bit of a brouhaha.”
“I can imagine,” John said dryly. “You know he’s out for the season.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about football,” Coach said, put his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to say that your son is something else. He really is. His vision is incredible and he reads defenses like a pro. And God knows he has fire in the belly. Now, this is gonna hurt his scholarship bids, but I want you to know that I will call anyone and everyone I know to get him a walk on this summer, if that’s what he wants.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll let him know.”
“You call me if you need anything,” Coach said. “Day or night. And if I can’t get it, I’ll lean on Buddy.”
“Thank you,” John said, the second time that morning. “Dean…Dean’s been real lucky to have you as his coach.”
“He’s a gifted athlete. It’s been my pleasure.” They shook hands and Coach Taylor saw himself out. John turned back towards Dean’s room.
“Dad?” Sam was waiting for him in the doorway.
“You sleep okay?” John asked.
“Yeah, I did. I think Dean’s waking up. Should we get a nurse?”
“Nah. Let’s wait a minute.” It didn’t take long, just a couple more minutes until Dean rubbed at his eyes, yawned, and realized he was in a hospital room.
“Fuck this shit,” he groused, taking in the gown and the crappy sheets. Dean looked a little loopy still, somewhere between last night’s morphine drip and the hydrocodone he hadn’t started yet.
“Language,” John said. “How you feeling, dude?”
“Fine, I guess. My leg feels like it might fall off,” Dean said, looking down his body. “Oh God. Please tell me I don’t have a-“
“Catheter. Yep.”
“Not cool,” Dean groaned. “Not cool. Where’s the button-thingy? I want to at least be able to sit up, here.”
“I got it,” Sam said, bringing Dean’s bed up to about sixty degrees. “Billy brought you a get-well-soon gift.”
Dean looked over at the side table. “Is that a six-pack?”
“Classy friends you got,” Sam said, smiling.
“You sleep okay?” Dean asked. “You should get breakfast. I bet they have Lucky Charms in the cafeteria.”
“I’m good,” Sam said.
“Are you sure?” John asked. “Your brother and I have some things to talk about.”
“Sam stays.” Without warning, Dean’s voice was straight sober. “We talk, we talk together.”
“Dean-“ John started.
“I don’t know if you noticed, Dad, but Sam’s as much a part of this as we are,” Dean said.
“I’m not leaving,” Sam announced. “I won’t.”
“Okay,” John sighed and took a seat. “Shut the door. And grab a chair. We’ll do this together, Dean. In the ambulance you said something…do you remember that night?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I do.”
“What night?” Sam asked. There was a long silence.
“The night Mom died,” John said at last. It hurt every time. Every damn time. “We were in your nursery, all four of us. Mom knew something bad was going to happen.”
“How?”
“It’s a long story, Sam,” John started.
“We got time,” Dean said. John got the feeling that he was being held hostage for the most uncomfortable conversation of his life. Maybe Dean would share the drugs.
“Before we got married, your mom was very involved in, um, some off-color activities, not quite legal, morally grey activities.”
“Like what? Stripping?”
“No!” John said, shooting a look at Dean. “Your mother was not a stripper!”
“Was she a criminal, too?” Sam asked.
“No! Your mother was not a criminal! And what do you mean, ‘too’?”
“I just figured that’s what you did,” Sam said. “You only have a sort-of-real job at Buddy’s, you’re always traveling, and you bring home cash, sometimes, but never a paycheck. I just figured you were knocking over liquor stores.” Dean was staring at him, open-mouthed. “What?”
“Wait,” John said. “You think I’m a thief, and we live in a one-bathroom ranch in Dillon?”
“I never said I thought you were a good thief.”
“I’m not a thief!”
“In Sammy’s defense, I used to think you were a spy. Why else would you have six different licenses and new, fake credit cards each month?”
John was actually speechless. Dean shrugged.
“Seriously, you’re not half as stealthy as you think you are. I’ve known since I was ten.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, that’s when you started to take longer trips, left Sam with me for longer. One night, you came home from Jim’s with a busted ankle, and you forgot to put your journal up before you crashed. I found it. And then I read it. And then all the ID’s and all the cards made sense.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” John asked. Dean looked away.
“We never talked about that night. I just figured you were waiting for me to be ready. I figured you’d tell me everything when you thought I deserved to hear it.”
“Dean.” John put his head in his hands. This is one of those times.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Dean said. “I understand.”
“No, Dean,” John ran his hand down his face. “You shouldn’t have to-it wasn’t that. Mom didn’t want this for you. For either of you. She knew what it was like, and she didn’t want it for you. That’s why I never told you.”
“She knew?” Dean whispered. “Oh my God. Mom was a hunter?”
“She hunted?” Sam asked. “What does that have to do with what happened in Lawrence?”
“Not like deer hunting,” Dean said. “She hunted stuff like the thing from last night. Mom knew it was coming for us.”
“She did.” John cleared his throat. “She told me about it. I wasn’t sure I could even believe her. But we waited up there, together, the four of us. She didn’t want you to be alone, Dean, in case it wanted you. Anyway, it came. And we couldn’t stop it.”
“It killed Mom,” Sam said.
“And then the house caught fire,” Dean finished. John couldn’t trust himself to speak. “Dad handed you to me, Sammy. He told me to take you outside and not look back.”
“I didn’t know you remembered.” It sounded lame, even to him.
“You never asked.”
“What was it? The thing inside Coach Lamar?” Sam asked.
“A demon, a very old demon.”
“What did it mean about me? And the children like me?”
“Sam…” John leaned over and studied the floor. I’m so sorry, Mary. I can’t do this. Not today. I’m so sorry.
“Dad, are you alright?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just a little tired. Hey, son, would you...would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Sam said.
“And pick up a nurse on your way back,” Dean added. “I’m ready for my happy pill.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam stood up, looked hard at Dean like maybe he was faking it. John looked at him, too, and decided he probably wasn’t. Shit. He should have made sure the kid got some painkillers before this got underway. Dean turned back to his dad the second Sam was out of the room.
“We don’t have to have that conversation right now. But I was there. I saw the blood. We’re gonna have that conversation soon.”
“Okay,” John whispered. “I’m sorry, it’s just-“
“What is it?”
“Dean, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have had to... Last night. I’m sorry you had to do that. I put too much on your shoulders. You take care of Sammy, you take care of me. You do that. And you don’t complain. Not ever. And last night. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you.”
“Why are you saying this stuff?" Dean looked at him like he'd grown a third eye. "You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared, Dean.”
“Okay.”
“Um, I have something for you,” John cleared his throat. “You know, when I was seventeen, I started getting into trouble at school. Got picked up by the cops a couple of times. And my old man, he made my life a living hell. Didn’t know me. Didn’t trust me. You know what I did? I joined the Marines on my eighteenth birthday.”
“Jesus. I just, I always thought it was the draft.”
“Nope. I picked up and I left because I couldn’t find one damn reason to stay.”
“So this…”
“This is your reason.” John reached into his jacket and tossed the contents of his pocket to Dean.
“Holy shit.” Dean stared at the keys to the Impala.
“The keys are yours but the pink slip is mine. You’ll get it with your diploma.”
“I. Dad. I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’ll enjoy that while it lasts. Look, your mom wanted you to have a normal life, or at least a choice. If you want to go to college, we’ll make that happen. Sammy and I, we’ll move with you. It doesn’t matter where. Dean, I just don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving, Dad.”
“I meant what I said, Dean. About last night."
“Nurse is on her way!” Sammy announced, entering the room in victory. John and his eldest cleared their throats and found a reason to avoid Sam’s eyes for a moment. Sam, for his part, sat next to his big brother on the hospital bed, and offered him some dry Lucky Charms. John took the cup of coffee he’d brought with him and sipped it quietly while his sons argued over which color marshmallow tasted the best.
Corinna, the formidable nurse from last night, walked in briskly, asked Dean a few questions, fussed over him a little, took his vitals, and handed him the Vicodin. She reminded John what a brave son he had. She noted everything on Dean’s chart and updated the date:
November 2, 1996.
Today was gonna be the day, but they’ll never throw it back to you.
By now you shoulda somehow realized what you’re not to do.
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
And all the roads that lead you there were winding.
And all the lights that light the way are blinding.
There are many things that I would like to say to you,
But I don’t know how.
I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me.
And after all, you’re my wonderwall.
No spoilers past 4.10, please!