Fic: Mourning Skye
Title: Mourning Skye
Author: MissAnnThropic
Spoilers: set in the Skyeverse (surrounding my fic "Wild by Skye")
Summary: When Dean reunites with his father after months of hunting solo, John knows something happened to his oldest son while they were apart, but Dean won't talk about it.
Timeline: See the timeline for a chronological listing of Skyeverse fics to know where exactly this falls in the timeline. Or, you know, just read the fic and figure it out! Or eat pie. I know which one Dean would vote for :)
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
Author's Note: This makes absolutely no sense, because I hate John Winchester, but this fic - with all its John Winchesterness - is my favorite ficlet in the Skyeverse ("Wild by Skye", of course, standing apart and on its own). What up with that?!
*******************
"What do you want, Jim?" John Winchester's gruff, brusque tone greeted his long-time hunting friend, Pastor Jim Murphy, when he recognized the priest's number on his ringing cell phone.
"Hello to you too, John," Pastor Jim returned dulcetly, just shy of out-and-out sarcastic. "You don't sound very happy to hear from me."
"Sorry… just, caught me at a bad time, that's all."
"Seems there's never anything but a bad time with you."
"You call just to point that out?" John growled.
Pastor Jim had no immediate retort to that, and when he did finally answer his tone was that of the father. "You thought I was Dean, didn't you?"
"Hoped, really," John confessed. John always told Jim more than he ought to… he figured it was that whole confessional vibe the pastor put out. It got people, even people like John Winchester, to talk. Besides, so far confiding in Jim had yet to blow up in John's face. There were precious few people about which John Winchester could say as much.
"How long has it been since you last heard from him?"
John didn't care to think about it.
"About three weeks, I guess."
"You're worried about him." It wasn't a question.
Yes.
"Dean's a sharp kid, he can take care of himself," John grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He was worried. Almost three weeks… it was a long time not to hear from Dean. He got that Dean was upset that Sam left, but still, three weeks…
"Want me to put out some feelers, try to track him down for you?" Jim asked.
Yes.
John sighed. "No… Dean said he needed some time by himself. I owe the kid that much."
There was a thick silence between the two men.
"Dean's not mad at you, you know."
John chuckled mirthlessly. "Sure he is, and at Sam, and at the world, too. Shit, truth is, Jim… this family was always just on the edge of flying apart. Me and Sam… this bomb was just waiting to go off. Dean was always the one trying to hold us together." John scowled down at his gun, lying in parts on the motel mattress for cleaning. "Sam should never have left." It was reckless and dangerous to go, but Sam would not be swayed. Then Sam was forcing the issue, screaming about college and getting away, and John just lost the last of his patience and gave his youngest the final shove out the door. It was going to happen anyway, and John would rather it be on his terms than Sam's. Somehow, it made John feel like he had an iota of control over the situation.
"You shouldn't blame the boy," Jim scolded gently.
"Well, who the hell should I blame then? No one had this hair-brained idea of college but him."
"Going to college isn't that crazy a dream for someone Sam's age," Pastor Jim pointed out.
John felt the anger of that night, of that fight, all over again. John remembered it so vividly. He might have said some things he didn't actually mean, but the kid had really made him angry. John had never met someone who could get under his skin and infuriate him the way Sam could.
And yet, John still loved the kid more than life itself.
Parenthood was weird like that.
"But Sam knows better," John said hotly. "He knows what's out there. He knows that apple-pie, picket fence life is just a lie. All he's doing is sticking his head in the sand, and ignoring what's out there won't make it go away. It'll just end up getting him killed."
"There is that," Jim conceded in an even voice, sounding maddeningly neutral about the greatest disaster since the fire in the Winchester family.
"I'm just trying to protect my boys!" John snarled. "How does that make me the monster?"
"You're not."
John snorted. "Sam sure thinks so. You'd think I cursed him, the way he was yelling about how cruel I was, how heartless and insensitive."
"You did tell him that if he left, he couldn't come back."
"I'm sorry I ever told you about that," John seethed. "That'll teach me to get drunk with you in a moment of weakness."
"You needed someone to talk to. I'm good for that."
John rubbed at his brow with one hand. "I didn't mean what I said to Sam, you know I didn't."
"I know… but does Sam?"
John sighed. "You know, there was a day when I wouldn't doubt my boys knew that I loved them. But now..." John shook his head. "Sam left so angry, and now Dean's…"
"Missing," Jim provided.
John stiffened. "Not missing. Just… somewhere."
What a mess.
Bad enough that Sam blew up and stormed out, but Dean left, too.
That one wasn't permanent. It wasn't a parting cleaved with sharp words and ultimatums. Dean would come back; he just needed some time alone.
It didn't shock the Winchester patriarch that there was fallout from Sam's abrupt departure. John knew his boys were close. When Sam rebelled, John was insulated against the pain by a shield of anger. Dean didn't have any such barrier between him and his baby brother. Sam up and leaving the family cut Dean to the bone. And because John was the only one there to be mad at after Sam was gone, Dean was mad at John.
But Dean didn't do 'angry at John Winchester' well, so instead of fighting with his father, he fled. Said he'd be back, packed up his duffel, and left in the Impala.
That was three months ago. John still talked to his oldest son on the phone once in a while, updating each other on their hunts and their well-being (as that term applied to a Winchester), but Dean made it clear he wasn't ready to return, and John didn't push Dean to come back.
Because Dean would come back on his own, John let him have his space. With Sam, John knew the break could be irrevocable, so he had held on that much tighter.
For all the good that did.
"You know, you could just try calling Dean."
"How do you know I haven't tried already?" John asked, touchy.
Jim chuckled. "Because I know you, John. If you have tried calling him, I'll eat the Book of Genesis."
John smirked at that mental image, then he slowly frowned. "Dean said he needed time alone. I won't push him."
"That's very patient and kind of you… maybe you might show Sam some of that understanding. It could go a long way toward fixing things."
"But I understand Dean; Sam I don't understand." John sighed. "Besides, giving Dean space and giving Sam space are two entirely different beasts." John glowered at the cruelty of the universe. Then he was resolute in his actions. "Sam made his decision, now he has to live with it. I'm just waiting to see what Dean will do."
Secretly, a part of John half-expected Dean to follow Sam to Stanford. His oldest boy loved hunting, but he also knew the only thing Dean loved more than the hunt was his little brother. Keeping Sam safe was a job of higher priority than hunting evil for Dean, always had been since the day of the fire. John wouldn't be surprised if Dean holed up in California, just to watch out for Sam.
It almost surprised John when he started getting short calls from Dean telling him he was on a hunt in Somewhere, USA, and not squatting somewhere within five miles of Sam at college.
Then almost three weeks ago, this interminable silence began.
But John didn't want to push his oldest. Dean said he needed time by himself, and John was determined to give him that. Somehow, giving Dean freedom was the only sure-fire way to get him to come back. Turn Sam loose and he'd run forever, right into the sun. Dean would cavort a while but he always stopped and turned back for home. In terms from a lifetime ago that John once knew, Sam was the dog that bolted out the door at the first chance and disappeared; Dean was the dog that wouldn't leave the yard.
Dean would come home, John was certain of that.
Never mind that home was a car.
"He won't stay gone long," Jim assured, "that boy idolizes you."
"Not anymore, not after what happened between me and Sam."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"You didn't see his face, Jim. When I said… what I did… to Sam. Dean looked like I'd stabbed him."
"Family bonds are stronger than we think. Wounds heal, my friend," Pastor Jim said simply.
John thought of Sam leaving so full of fury and forever. "Not all."
After a pause, Jim said, "I have to go, John, but let me know if you want me to find Dean for you."
It was so tempting… it was a great act of faith in Dean for John to say, "Thanks, but I'll give him a few more days."
"I'll pray for both your boys," Jim said in parting.
John dropped his phone with a heavy frown, wondering which of his sons would need it the most.
************
When John's phone began to sound its shrill ring in an otherwise silent room, the hunter was not in a sociable mood and was tempted to throw the phone into the wall to shut it up.
Good thing he glanced at the caller ID before he did.
In an instant, all of John's anger and frustration vanished, replaced with relief.
It was Dean's number.
John answered. "Dean! Hey, kiddo."
"Hey, Dad."
John froze. He knew his boy, knew him like he knew any solider in arms, could read him from fifty yards away just from the way he held his body.
Dean's voice was all wrong. It was listless. Flat. Somber. UnDean-like.
"You okay, son?"
There was a heavy pause. When Dean spoke again, it wasn't with the answer to John's question. "Where are you?"
John frowned. What his boy didn't say said a hell of a lot. "Salt Lake City, Utah. Where are you?"
Dean's answer was a heartbeat late, almost like there was a time delay, but John knew that wasn't the case. It was Dean faltering on every syllable. Like dragging each sentence through waist-deep water to deliver it to his father.
"I can be there in a couple of days… will you wait?"
John swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. For his son, he'd wait forever. Especially hearing the worrisome tone in Dean's voice.
His boy needed him. John wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll be here."
"Kay."
Before the connection broke, John said, "Dean!"
There was an expectant silence.
"What's going on?" John asked in concern.
Again, a telling second's mark of time.
"Have you heard from Sam?" Dean asked.
That stopped John cold. It was code to them now. John wouldn't answer that, so he knew that meant that Dean similarly wouldn't answer John's question.
John didn't like it, but he didn't press the matter. That could be dealt with when Dean arrived.
When Dean hung up, John lowered his phone and frowned down at it in his hand. He'd finally heard from Dean, and he thought once he heard his son's voice all his worries would be put to rest.
But the fretting of a parent was never done. Now John was anxious for Dean to reach him, if only to see just how bad the situation was.
Because John could tell from Dean's voice that there was a situation.
*************
Despite the fact John was watching and waiting for Dean, his oldest son still managed to surprise him with his arrival. John was walking back to his motel room from a nearby diner, a bag of lunch in his hand, and stopped short when he saw the Impala in the parking lot and Dean leaning against the sleek black body.
"Son."
Dean looked up slowly at his father. He tried, and failed, to muster a smile. "Hey."
When he was closer, John took stock, his keen eyes swallowing every detail of his oldest boy.
Dean looked uninjured. There was no sign of bandages, casts, stitches, or tourniquets that made up so much of the Winchester life. He did look drawn, gaunt the way he'd get when he'd been sick and avoiding food for days. The kid also looked dead-tired. There were shadows beneath his usually bright green-hazel eyes, eyes that were now looking dully up at John.
It was the posture most of all, though. Dean swaggered. He strutted. John's oldest son was a god damn peacock, fully equipped with the head-turning looks to pull it off without coming off like a complete sleaze-monster (as Sam had always been so wont to put it).
That wasn't Dean now. Dean was smaller somehow, bowed, his shoulders hunched and hands buried in his jacket pockets. It seemed to ask a lot of him just to bring his head up to look at his father.
It was hard to believe at that moment that the kid was just barely twenty-four years old. He looked world-weary and heart-sick, two states John Winchester knew well from a much longer lifetime of sorrow.
Was it just Sam leaving that had done this to Dean?
"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked.
Dean started to take in a breath, changed his mind, and then just sort of sagged. "Nothing."
John gave Dean the 'bullshit' eye.
Dean shied. "You got a bed I can commandeer, or are we hitting the road?"
Dean looked like he could barely keep himself upright, to say nothing for getting behind the wheel and driving until dusk.
But John knew if he said so, Dean would do it. His oldest boy was just dependable like that.
"When I knew you were coming I had them switch me to a double; come on inside."
Dean shuffled silently behind John into the motel room.
John held out his sack of lunch to Dean. "Here."
Dean looked down at it blankly. "That's yours."
Might have been at one time, but one look at his son and John knew who really needed a meal. "I'm toting around enough of a spare tire already. You caught me overindulging myself. Eat."
Dean, who never had to be told twice to eat and dove into food like a ravenous wolf, held the bag a moment, as if unsure what to do, before taking it to the small room table and sitting down.
To distract himself from the fact that he really had been hungry and now he could smell the burrito but had to watch Dean eat it, John began to pick up a few errant objects around the room, clearing one bed for Dean while asking, "So… where you been?"
"Oregon."
Dean had checked in with him from Oregon over three weeks ago. "This whole time?"
Dean nodded.
"What were you hunting?"
There was no answer. John turned and looked at his son. Dean was staring down at the burrito.
"Dean?" John repeated.
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing."
John frowned and narrowed his eyes. This was very unlike Dean. Dean loved to talk about his hunts. Even the ones that went south they discussed. When the Winchester men could talk about absolutely nothing else, there was always the hunt.
Something had really rattled Dean to get him to clam up like this.
"Dean… are you all right?"
Dean hesitantly looked up at his father. For a second, he looked so lost. "Just tired."
And more than that, John knew, but Dean obviously wasn't up for sharing. There'd be time for that later.
"Finish your lunch and you can hit the sack," John ordered.
Without another word, Dean did as he was told.
After he ate, Dean went back out to the car and brought in his bag of personal things. John surreptitiously watched, like a hawk, while Dean stripped down to his boxer briefs.
When his son's shirt came off, John flinched. John knew Dean's every injury, from infancy onward, mostly because he was the one who dressed and patched most of them. He could have drawn a map of Dean and Sam's body scars from memory. Looking at Dean, John found there was a new scar, recent and noticeable from across the room, on Dean's shoulder.
"Your last hunt went wrong," John blurted the obvious observation.
Dean stopped, looked down at his latest battle trophy, then brought up a hand and lightly touched the healing scar tissue. "Yeah."
That was all Dean would say.
Dean crawled into bed, nuzzling down into the pillow. From the way Dean's body immediately went lax, John knew the boy would sleep hard and long. Good. Dean looked like he needed it.
Caught up in the relief of having Dean back, John sat on the opposite bed facing Dean and said gruffly, "Good to have you back, son."
Dean curled in on himself in the bed, eyes closed. "Didn't want to be alone," he mumbled.
John didn't get a chance to ask Dean what that meant before the young hunter was asleep.
*************
Dean slept through to nightfall and was still out when John decided to call it a night and follow his sleeping son's example. Checking that Dean was still dead to the world, John ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower before bed.
When he got out twenty minutes later, he was just in time to see Dean start from sleep and struggle to a semi-upright position in bed.
John knew his boys and their nightmares, too.
"Dean?"
Dean wouldn't look up at his father. He kept his eyes downcast, locked on the sheets, as he took in quick, deep breaths.
John started toward Dean.
Dean seemed to sense it and forestalled John with a hasty, "No, I'm okay."
"You don't look okay."
"Just… clown dreams, you know?" Dean said dryly.
John remembered how that would have made Sam laugh. It worked to deter the youngest of the Winchester clan, but John was not so easily derailed.
Now a few steps closer, John could see a sheen of sweat on Dean's brow. John frowned and moved forward to check Dean for fever.
Without once lifting his eyes, Dean turned away from John's advance and lay down on the bed with his back to his father. "Dad… towel."
That made the older hunter falter. John was still standing around in his towel from his shower.
By the time John pulled on a pair of underwear and shirt for bed, Dean was drifting off again, probably by sheer force of will to avoid another confrontation, and John didn't have it in him to pull Dean from it. Dean clearly needed rest.
But John didn't like how Dean wouldn't even look at him.
***********
Two days passed with Dean more in bed than out. John was worried Dean was sick at first, because it was not like Dean to spend all day in bed. John finally got his way and checked for fever, but Dean's temperature was fine. Just run ragged, apparently, from a hunt gone bad that he refused to talk about.
Before Sam left, Dean would never have hidden the details of a hunt from his father. It seemed like the cracks from that night were spreading into all aspects of Winchester life, sinister and disquieting.
If John didn't know any better, he might say Dean was acting depressed. Sam wasn't with them anymore, so maybe Dean was a little depressed. They were a man down, three reduced to two. That would take time to get used to.
On the second night, John woke from a nightmare of Sam being attacked in the university library by a Shtriga and having only a thesaurus to try to beat it back when he looked at the bed besides his and found it empty.
On reflex, John got out of bed and went to the window to check the car. Dean wouldn't go anywhere without his baby, so if the Impala was in the lot it meant Dean wasn't far.
And indeed he wasn't. Dean was lying on the hood of the Impala, reclined against the windshield.
John opened the motel room door and silently approached his son.
Dean's eyes were closed, but it wasn't quite the repose of sleep. He looked reflective, passive, just existing and letting that be enough. It wasn't a look he'd ever really seen on Dean before, not without his baby brother tucked up under his arm and against his side.
John wondered if Sam realized he'd carved the heart out of the family when he left. Dean really shined as the caretaker, but there was no one left to care for.
"Dean?" John said softly.
Dean, proof that he had been awake the whole time, slowly opened his eyes and looked over at his father.
John stepped closer to his son and regarded him in the light of the half moon.
He understood something clearly in that moment. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?"
"No."
John frowned. He didn't care for that at all. His boys didn't keep secrets from him.
Except Sam had - he kept secret his efforts to get into college. And now Dean had this one. But John wouldn't make this secret the breaking point, the way Sam's had become. His oldest son was finally back with him, and John wouldn't risk that on a secret.
If the cost of having Dean back was letting Dean have this one secret, John could live with that. The Winchester family was in a strange place, where everything (even the things John used to trust in unfailingly) seemed fragile. Right now, even his relationship with Dean seemed to be teetering on the edge of something.
To save it, John would go against his instincts, this time, and back off.
"You going to be okay, kiddo?"
Dean seemed to give that some thought. It made John nervous that Dean would have to think.
"I'll be fine," he finally answered.
John smirked. Never mind that Dean said he was 'fine' when he was bleeding profusely, limping along with broken bones, so concussed John kept having to remind Dean that Sammy was okay (because Dean with a concussion was a Dean who became ridiculously, constantly worried if Sam was all right, even if the younger brother hadn't even been on that particular hunt with them). Dean's version of 'fine' had a broad definition and was often very far from fine.
But John had to pick his battles, and after Sam running away, John was gun-shy about fighting with his children. He didn't really know what he'd do if he didn't have Dean. "What are you doing out here?"
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Got my fill of sleep, I guess. Woke up and needed to be outside."
John found that puzzling. Dean was not a claustrophobic person, nor had he ever been one particularly fond of nature. But as John looked down at his son, he couldn't deny that Dean looked better now than he had the two days he spent cooped up in the room. Calmer. More peaceful.
"… beautiful," Dean muttered absently, and John realized he'd missed what Dean was talking about.
"What's beautiful?"
Dean nodded his chin toward the stars. "Skye."
John looked up at the heavens. "Uh, yeah… I guess." John started to wonder what time it was. "It's the middle of the night; you coming back inside, son?"
"Five more minutes?" Dean pleaded, a hint of playful in his voice.
And for the first time in months, John laughed, reminded of the old days when seven-year-old Dean wanted to stay up late to watch television on a school night.
It was just damn good to hear mirth and playfulness creeping into Dean's voice again.
John was relieved to know that while he may have lost one son, he still had Dean.
"Don't stay out here too long," John finally said and he turned back toward the motel room, "it's damn cold out here."
Dean grunted.
John paused before going back inside to look back at Dean. Dean had closed his eyes again, soaking in the night.
Maybe it was because Dean's eyes were closed that John mustered the courage to give into the passing and 'touchy feely' thought that popped into the forefront of his mind. "I'm glad you came back," John said lowly.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at John. They both knew Sam was thick between them, the thing they wouldn't say even though it was right there.
Dean finally said, "I was always coming back, Dad."
John smiled and went back inside before he got all mushy and chick-flick on Dean.
Tomorrow, they'd start learning how the Winchesters hunted as a two-man team.
END
Author: MissAnnThropic
Spoilers: set in the Skyeverse (surrounding my fic "Wild by Skye")
Summary: When Dean reunites with his father after months of hunting solo, John knows something happened to his oldest son while they were apart, but Dean won't talk about it.
Timeline: See the timeline for a chronological listing of Skyeverse fics to know where exactly this falls in the timeline. Or, you know, just read the fic and figure it out! Or eat pie. I know which one Dean would vote for :)
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
Author's Note: This makes absolutely no sense, because I hate John Winchester, but this fic - with all its John Winchesterness - is my favorite ficlet in the Skyeverse ("Wild by Skye", of course, standing apart and on its own). What up with that?!
*******************
"What do you want, Jim?" John Winchester's gruff, brusque tone greeted his long-time hunting friend, Pastor Jim Murphy, when he recognized the priest's number on his ringing cell phone.
"Hello to you too, John," Pastor Jim returned dulcetly, just shy of out-and-out sarcastic. "You don't sound very happy to hear from me."
"Sorry… just, caught me at a bad time, that's all."
"Seems there's never anything but a bad time with you."
"You call just to point that out?" John growled.
Pastor Jim had no immediate retort to that, and when he did finally answer his tone was that of the father. "You thought I was Dean, didn't you?"
"Hoped, really," John confessed. John always told Jim more than he ought to… he figured it was that whole confessional vibe the pastor put out. It got people, even people like John Winchester, to talk. Besides, so far confiding in Jim had yet to blow up in John's face. There were precious few people about which John Winchester could say as much.
"How long has it been since you last heard from him?"
John didn't care to think about it.
"About three weeks, I guess."
"You're worried about him." It wasn't a question.
Yes.
"Dean's a sharp kid, he can take care of himself," John grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He was worried. Almost three weeks… it was a long time not to hear from Dean. He got that Dean was upset that Sam left, but still, three weeks…
"Want me to put out some feelers, try to track him down for you?" Jim asked.
Yes.
John sighed. "No… Dean said he needed some time by himself. I owe the kid that much."
There was a thick silence between the two men.
"Dean's not mad at you, you know."
John chuckled mirthlessly. "Sure he is, and at Sam, and at the world, too. Shit, truth is, Jim… this family was always just on the edge of flying apart. Me and Sam… this bomb was just waiting to go off. Dean was always the one trying to hold us together." John scowled down at his gun, lying in parts on the motel mattress for cleaning. "Sam should never have left." It was reckless and dangerous to go, but Sam would not be swayed. Then Sam was forcing the issue, screaming about college and getting away, and John just lost the last of his patience and gave his youngest the final shove out the door. It was going to happen anyway, and John would rather it be on his terms than Sam's. Somehow, it made John feel like he had an iota of control over the situation.
"You shouldn't blame the boy," Jim scolded gently.
"Well, who the hell should I blame then? No one had this hair-brained idea of college but him."
"Going to college isn't that crazy a dream for someone Sam's age," Pastor Jim pointed out.
John felt the anger of that night, of that fight, all over again. John remembered it so vividly. He might have said some things he didn't actually mean, but the kid had really made him angry. John had never met someone who could get under his skin and infuriate him the way Sam could.
And yet, John still loved the kid more than life itself.
Parenthood was weird like that.
"But Sam knows better," John said hotly. "He knows what's out there. He knows that apple-pie, picket fence life is just a lie. All he's doing is sticking his head in the sand, and ignoring what's out there won't make it go away. It'll just end up getting him killed."
"There is that," Jim conceded in an even voice, sounding maddeningly neutral about the greatest disaster since the fire in the Winchester family.
"I'm just trying to protect my boys!" John snarled. "How does that make me the monster?"
"You're not."
John snorted. "Sam sure thinks so. You'd think I cursed him, the way he was yelling about how cruel I was, how heartless and insensitive."
"You did tell him that if he left, he couldn't come back."
"I'm sorry I ever told you about that," John seethed. "That'll teach me to get drunk with you in a moment of weakness."
"You needed someone to talk to. I'm good for that."
John rubbed at his brow with one hand. "I didn't mean what I said to Sam, you know I didn't."
"I know… but does Sam?"
John sighed. "You know, there was a day when I wouldn't doubt my boys knew that I loved them. But now..." John shook his head. "Sam left so angry, and now Dean's…"
"Missing," Jim provided.
John stiffened. "Not missing. Just… somewhere."
What a mess.
Bad enough that Sam blew up and stormed out, but Dean left, too.
That one wasn't permanent. It wasn't a parting cleaved with sharp words and ultimatums. Dean would come back; he just needed some time alone.
It didn't shock the Winchester patriarch that there was fallout from Sam's abrupt departure. John knew his boys were close. When Sam rebelled, John was insulated against the pain by a shield of anger. Dean didn't have any such barrier between him and his baby brother. Sam up and leaving the family cut Dean to the bone. And because John was the only one there to be mad at after Sam was gone, Dean was mad at John.
But Dean didn't do 'angry at John Winchester' well, so instead of fighting with his father, he fled. Said he'd be back, packed up his duffel, and left in the Impala.
That was three months ago. John still talked to his oldest son on the phone once in a while, updating each other on their hunts and their well-being (as that term applied to a Winchester), but Dean made it clear he wasn't ready to return, and John didn't push Dean to come back.
Because Dean would come back on his own, John let him have his space. With Sam, John knew the break could be irrevocable, so he had held on that much tighter.
For all the good that did.
"You know, you could just try calling Dean."
"How do you know I haven't tried already?" John asked, touchy.
Jim chuckled. "Because I know you, John. If you have tried calling him, I'll eat the Book of Genesis."
John smirked at that mental image, then he slowly frowned. "Dean said he needed time alone. I won't push him."
"That's very patient and kind of you… maybe you might show Sam some of that understanding. It could go a long way toward fixing things."
"But I understand Dean; Sam I don't understand." John sighed. "Besides, giving Dean space and giving Sam space are two entirely different beasts." John glowered at the cruelty of the universe. Then he was resolute in his actions. "Sam made his decision, now he has to live with it. I'm just waiting to see what Dean will do."
Secretly, a part of John half-expected Dean to follow Sam to Stanford. His oldest boy loved hunting, but he also knew the only thing Dean loved more than the hunt was his little brother. Keeping Sam safe was a job of higher priority than hunting evil for Dean, always had been since the day of the fire. John wouldn't be surprised if Dean holed up in California, just to watch out for Sam.
It almost surprised John when he started getting short calls from Dean telling him he was on a hunt in Somewhere, USA, and not squatting somewhere within five miles of Sam at college.
Then almost three weeks ago, this interminable silence began.
But John didn't want to push his oldest. Dean said he needed time by himself, and John was determined to give him that. Somehow, giving Dean freedom was the only sure-fire way to get him to come back. Turn Sam loose and he'd run forever, right into the sun. Dean would cavort a while but he always stopped and turned back for home. In terms from a lifetime ago that John once knew, Sam was the dog that bolted out the door at the first chance and disappeared; Dean was the dog that wouldn't leave the yard.
Dean would come home, John was certain of that.
Never mind that home was a car.
"He won't stay gone long," Jim assured, "that boy idolizes you."
"Not anymore, not after what happened between me and Sam."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"You didn't see his face, Jim. When I said… what I did… to Sam. Dean looked like I'd stabbed him."
"Family bonds are stronger than we think. Wounds heal, my friend," Pastor Jim said simply.
John thought of Sam leaving so full of fury and forever. "Not all."
After a pause, Jim said, "I have to go, John, but let me know if you want me to find Dean for you."
It was so tempting… it was a great act of faith in Dean for John to say, "Thanks, but I'll give him a few more days."
"I'll pray for both your boys," Jim said in parting.
John dropped his phone with a heavy frown, wondering which of his sons would need it the most.
************
When John's phone began to sound its shrill ring in an otherwise silent room, the hunter was not in a sociable mood and was tempted to throw the phone into the wall to shut it up.
Good thing he glanced at the caller ID before he did.
In an instant, all of John's anger and frustration vanished, replaced with relief.
It was Dean's number.
John answered. "Dean! Hey, kiddo."
"Hey, Dad."
John froze. He knew his boy, knew him like he knew any solider in arms, could read him from fifty yards away just from the way he held his body.
Dean's voice was all wrong. It was listless. Flat. Somber. UnDean-like.
"You okay, son?"
There was a heavy pause. When Dean spoke again, it wasn't with the answer to John's question. "Where are you?"
John frowned. What his boy didn't say said a hell of a lot. "Salt Lake City, Utah. Where are you?"
Dean's answer was a heartbeat late, almost like there was a time delay, but John knew that wasn't the case. It was Dean faltering on every syllable. Like dragging each sentence through waist-deep water to deliver it to his father.
"I can be there in a couple of days… will you wait?"
John swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. For his son, he'd wait forever. Especially hearing the worrisome tone in Dean's voice.
His boy needed him. John wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll be here."
"Kay."
Before the connection broke, John said, "Dean!"
There was an expectant silence.
"What's going on?" John asked in concern.
Again, a telling second's mark of time.
"Have you heard from Sam?" Dean asked.
That stopped John cold. It was code to them now. John wouldn't answer that, so he knew that meant that Dean similarly wouldn't answer John's question.
John didn't like it, but he didn't press the matter. That could be dealt with when Dean arrived.
When Dean hung up, John lowered his phone and frowned down at it in his hand. He'd finally heard from Dean, and he thought once he heard his son's voice all his worries would be put to rest.
But the fretting of a parent was never done. Now John was anxious for Dean to reach him, if only to see just how bad the situation was.
Because John could tell from Dean's voice that there was a situation.
*************
Despite the fact John was watching and waiting for Dean, his oldest son still managed to surprise him with his arrival. John was walking back to his motel room from a nearby diner, a bag of lunch in his hand, and stopped short when he saw the Impala in the parking lot and Dean leaning against the sleek black body.
"Son."
Dean looked up slowly at his father. He tried, and failed, to muster a smile. "Hey."
When he was closer, John took stock, his keen eyes swallowing every detail of his oldest boy.
Dean looked uninjured. There was no sign of bandages, casts, stitches, or tourniquets that made up so much of the Winchester life. He did look drawn, gaunt the way he'd get when he'd been sick and avoiding food for days. The kid also looked dead-tired. There were shadows beneath his usually bright green-hazel eyes, eyes that were now looking dully up at John.
It was the posture most of all, though. Dean swaggered. He strutted. John's oldest son was a god damn peacock, fully equipped with the head-turning looks to pull it off without coming off like a complete sleaze-monster (as Sam had always been so wont to put it).
That wasn't Dean now. Dean was smaller somehow, bowed, his shoulders hunched and hands buried in his jacket pockets. It seemed to ask a lot of him just to bring his head up to look at his father.
It was hard to believe at that moment that the kid was just barely twenty-four years old. He looked world-weary and heart-sick, two states John Winchester knew well from a much longer lifetime of sorrow.
Was it just Sam leaving that had done this to Dean?
"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked.
Dean started to take in a breath, changed his mind, and then just sort of sagged. "Nothing."
John gave Dean the 'bullshit' eye.
Dean shied. "You got a bed I can commandeer, or are we hitting the road?"
Dean looked like he could barely keep himself upright, to say nothing for getting behind the wheel and driving until dusk.
But John knew if he said so, Dean would do it. His oldest boy was just dependable like that.
"When I knew you were coming I had them switch me to a double; come on inside."
Dean shuffled silently behind John into the motel room.
John held out his sack of lunch to Dean. "Here."
Dean looked down at it blankly. "That's yours."
Might have been at one time, but one look at his son and John knew who really needed a meal. "I'm toting around enough of a spare tire already. You caught me overindulging myself. Eat."
Dean, who never had to be told twice to eat and dove into food like a ravenous wolf, held the bag a moment, as if unsure what to do, before taking it to the small room table and sitting down.
To distract himself from the fact that he really had been hungry and now he could smell the burrito but had to watch Dean eat it, John began to pick up a few errant objects around the room, clearing one bed for Dean while asking, "So… where you been?"
"Oregon."
Dean had checked in with him from Oregon over three weeks ago. "This whole time?"
Dean nodded.
"What were you hunting?"
There was no answer. John turned and looked at his son. Dean was staring down at the burrito.
"Dean?" John repeated.
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing."
John frowned and narrowed his eyes. This was very unlike Dean. Dean loved to talk about his hunts. Even the ones that went south they discussed. When the Winchester men could talk about absolutely nothing else, there was always the hunt.
Something had really rattled Dean to get him to clam up like this.
"Dean… are you all right?"
Dean hesitantly looked up at his father. For a second, he looked so lost. "Just tired."
And more than that, John knew, but Dean obviously wasn't up for sharing. There'd be time for that later.
"Finish your lunch and you can hit the sack," John ordered.
Without another word, Dean did as he was told.
After he ate, Dean went back out to the car and brought in his bag of personal things. John surreptitiously watched, like a hawk, while Dean stripped down to his boxer briefs.
When his son's shirt came off, John flinched. John knew Dean's every injury, from infancy onward, mostly because he was the one who dressed and patched most of them. He could have drawn a map of Dean and Sam's body scars from memory. Looking at Dean, John found there was a new scar, recent and noticeable from across the room, on Dean's shoulder.
"Your last hunt went wrong," John blurted the obvious observation.
Dean stopped, looked down at his latest battle trophy, then brought up a hand and lightly touched the healing scar tissue. "Yeah."
That was all Dean would say.
Dean crawled into bed, nuzzling down into the pillow. From the way Dean's body immediately went lax, John knew the boy would sleep hard and long. Good. Dean looked like he needed it.
Caught up in the relief of having Dean back, John sat on the opposite bed facing Dean and said gruffly, "Good to have you back, son."
Dean curled in on himself in the bed, eyes closed. "Didn't want to be alone," he mumbled.
John didn't get a chance to ask Dean what that meant before the young hunter was asleep.
*************
Dean slept through to nightfall and was still out when John decided to call it a night and follow his sleeping son's example. Checking that Dean was still dead to the world, John ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower before bed.
When he got out twenty minutes later, he was just in time to see Dean start from sleep and struggle to a semi-upright position in bed.
John knew his boys and their nightmares, too.
"Dean?"
Dean wouldn't look up at his father. He kept his eyes downcast, locked on the sheets, as he took in quick, deep breaths.
John started toward Dean.
Dean seemed to sense it and forestalled John with a hasty, "No, I'm okay."
"You don't look okay."
"Just… clown dreams, you know?" Dean said dryly.
John remembered how that would have made Sam laugh. It worked to deter the youngest of the Winchester clan, but John was not so easily derailed.
Now a few steps closer, John could see a sheen of sweat on Dean's brow. John frowned and moved forward to check Dean for fever.
Without once lifting his eyes, Dean turned away from John's advance and lay down on the bed with his back to his father. "Dad… towel."
That made the older hunter falter. John was still standing around in his towel from his shower.
By the time John pulled on a pair of underwear and shirt for bed, Dean was drifting off again, probably by sheer force of will to avoid another confrontation, and John didn't have it in him to pull Dean from it. Dean clearly needed rest.
But John didn't like how Dean wouldn't even look at him.
***********
Two days passed with Dean more in bed than out. John was worried Dean was sick at first, because it was not like Dean to spend all day in bed. John finally got his way and checked for fever, but Dean's temperature was fine. Just run ragged, apparently, from a hunt gone bad that he refused to talk about.
Before Sam left, Dean would never have hidden the details of a hunt from his father. It seemed like the cracks from that night were spreading into all aspects of Winchester life, sinister and disquieting.
If John didn't know any better, he might say Dean was acting depressed. Sam wasn't with them anymore, so maybe Dean was a little depressed. They were a man down, three reduced to two. That would take time to get used to.
On the second night, John woke from a nightmare of Sam being attacked in the university library by a Shtriga and having only a thesaurus to try to beat it back when he looked at the bed besides his and found it empty.
On reflex, John got out of bed and went to the window to check the car. Dean wouldn't go anywhere without his baby, so if the Impala was in the lot it meant Dean wasn't far.
And indeed he wasn't. Dean was lying on the hood of the Impala, reclined against the windshield.
John opened the motel room door and silently approached his son.
Dean's eyes were closed, but it wasn't quite the repose of sleep. He looked reflective, passive, just existing and letting that be enough. It wasn't a look he'd ever really seen on Dean before, not without his baby brother tucked up under his arm and against his side.
John wondered if Sam realized he'd carved the heart out of the family when he left. Dean really shined as the caretaker, but there was no one left to care for.
"Dean?" John said softly.
Dean, proof that he had been awake the whole time, slowly opened his eyes and looked over at his father.
John stepped closer to his son and regarded him in the light of the half moon.
He understood something clearly in that moment. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?"
"No."
John frowned. He didn't care for that at all. His boys didn't keep secrets from him.
Except Sam had - he kept secret his efforts to get into college. And now Dean had this one. But John wouldn't make this secret the breaking point, the way Sam's had become. His oldest son was finally back with him, and John wouldn't risk that on a secret.
If the cost of having Dean back was letting Dean have this one secret, John could live with that. The Winchester family was in a strange place, where everything (even the things John used to trust in unfailingly) seemed fragile. Right now, even his relationship with Dean seemed to be teetering on the edge of something.
To save it, John would go against his instincts, this time, and back off.
"You going to be okay, kiddo?"
Dean seemed to give that some thought. It made John nervous that Dean would have to think.
"I'll be fine," he finally answered.
John smirked. Never mind that Dean said he was 'fine' when he was bleeding profusely, limping along with broken bones, so concussed John kept having to remind Dean that Sammy was okay (because Dean with a concussion was a Dean who became ridiculously, constantly worried if Sam was all right, even if the younger brother hadn't even been on that particular hunt with them). Dean's version of 'fine' had a broad definition and was often very far from fine.
But John had to pick his battles, and after Sam running away, John was gun-shy about fighting with his children. He didn't really know what he'd do if he didn't have Dean. "What are you doing out here?"
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Got my fill of sleep, I guess. Woke up and needed to be outside."
John found that puzzling. Dean was not a claustrophobic person, nor had he ever been one particularly fond of nature. But as John looked down at his son, he couldn't deny that Dean looked better now than he had the two days he spent cooped up in the room. Calmer. More peaceful.
"… beautiful," Dean muttered absently, and John realized he'd missed what Dean was talking about.
"What's beautiful?"
Dean nodded his chin toward the stars. "Skye."
John looked up at the heavens. "Uh, yeah… I guess." John started to wonder what time it was. "It's the middle of the night; you coming back inside, son?"
"Five more minutes?" Dean pleaded, a hint of playful in his voice.
And for the first time in months, John laughed, reminded of the old days when seven-year-old Dean wanted to stay up late to watch television on a school night.
It was just damn good to hear mirth and playfulness creeping into Dean's voice again.
John was relieved to know that while he may have lost one son, he still had Dean.
"Don't stay out here too long," John finally said and he turned back toward the motel room, "it's damn cold out here."
Dean grunted.
John paused before going back inside to look back at Dean. Dean had closed his eyes again, soaking in the night.
Maybe it was because Dean's eyes were closed that John mustered the courage to give into the passing and 'touchy feely' thought that popped into the forefront of his mind. "I'm glad you came back," John said lowly.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at John. They both knew Sam was thick between them, the thing they wouldn't say even though it was right there.
Dean finally said, "I was always coming back, Dad."
John smiled and went back inside before he got all mushy and chick-flick on Dean.
Tomorrow, they'd start learning how the Winchesters hunted as a two-man team.
END