Secrets, Scars and Shotguns.
Palpitate
It was early the next morning when John pulled in at the motel. He stumbled into the room, covered in blood. Sam jumped out of bed and rushed to the aid of his father, closely followed by Dean. John had only ever come home from a hunt like this twice before, that was when Dean was nine, when they had Paster Jim or Bobby. Now, Dean was sick and Paster Jim and Bobby where miles behind them, leaving Sam feeling under a lot of stress.
“Dad! Dad what happened?!” Sam quickly asked.
Dean didn’t speak; he just helped his father to a bed and listened intensively.
According to his father, he had just been careless; the thing he was hunting had gotten him before he had gotten it. But in the end John had given it payback and come speeding back here. To the small, smelly Motel room.
Sam wanted to call one of his friends to help, see if they were anywhere close. But John, being macho and manly, refused continually. Dean pretty much took this as an opportunity to keep busy, to avoid Sam’s eyes. Looking into those eyes used to make him feel warm, loved but now they made him feel cold as if a blizzard had hit him and frozen is bones and nerves.
Sam watched his brother. Dean rushed around, trying to help his father in any way he could. But not the way he that John most needed it. Not in the way Sam knew John needed. The truth was John was so worried about his eldest son that his mind wondered when he was hunting, thus causing him to get careless; John had even lost sleep over it all. Sam only felt quilt for questioning Dean last night, for making his brother feel no doubt even worse. But even now he wanted to yell at his brother, tell him what John needed, what he wanted. Doing so in front of his father would score no brownie points.
“Dad are you sure I can’t call anyone?” Sam asked.
“No I’m fine son really. It’s just minor.”
“Dad how did this happen? You never get...hurt by anything that you hunt!”
John didn’t reply. He just nodded in that ‘I know’ way. Sad and slow.
Dean stood by the bed watching them both until they would meet his empty gaze and then he would look away and resort to watching the top of his sneakers.
Sam went out to get more bandages and cleaning wipes leaving Dean and John alone. Dean started to fix surgical tape to one of Johns many wounds.
“Was it my fault?” Dean asked, not for one second daring to stop fixing the dressing.
His father only sighed. John had worried about Dean, ever since it all went wrong, sometimes his concentration slips, strays. Dances of into ‘ I wonder if my boy’s are okay ‘ land. But not like this, never like this. He had never come home so bad before, never. The truth was it was Dean’s fault. He didn’t mean to be like this, his mind was just warped.
“No Dean.” John lied abruptly; the last thing he wanted was to openly tell Dean it was.
“You’re lying.” Dean replied, he looked at his father, his deep green eyes said it all,” Dad?”
“Yeah Dean. But just a little. This time I really did get careless.”
Dean lowered his head. He had known he kept his father and brother up at night. He knew that he had kept John from doing a lot of things, he knew he hurt his Dad and that every time he would ask was it him, John would lie. Tell him that no it wasn’t him, his freaked out, failure of a son. Dean also knew he only lied because he loved him, but somehow felt that John hated him. He didn’t know why.
“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered.
“For what Dean?”
“For...for being like this. For being a fuck up.” Dean was shaking.
“You’re scared.” John placed a hand on his son’s. Dean only ever shook when he was scared or cold and he couldn’t be cold it was almost 90 degrees,” What’s up son?”
Dean sighed. He wanted the chase; he wanted to chase the pain more than anything but if it meant hurting his father and his brother anymore well then his fun was over. He hated hurting his Dad. He wanted to make him proud of him, take his pills and stay on the rails instead of spending all of his time off them. He didn’t want to bottle up anymore.
That’s why he was so scared. Changing scared him more than anything in the world. Reality was waiting for him.
“Dad? Where are my pills?”
“Dad! Dad what happened?!” Sam quickly asked.
Dean didn’t speak; he just helped his father to a bed and listened intensively.
According to his father, he had just been careless; the thing he was hunting had gotten him before he had gotten it. But in the end John had given it payback and come speeding back here. To the small, smelly Motel room.
Sam wanted to call one of his friends to help, see if they were anywhere close. But John, being macho and manly, refused continually. Dean pretty much took this as an opportunity to keep busy, to avoid Sam’s eyes. Looking into those eyes used to make him feel warm, loved but now they made him feel cold as if a blizzard had hit him and frozen is bones and nerves.
Sam watched his brother. Dean rushed around, trying to help his father in any way he could. But not the way he that John most needed it. Not in the way Sam knew John needed. The truth was John was so worried about his eldest son that his mind wondered when he was hunting, thus causing him to get careless; John had even lost sleep over it all. Sam only felt quilt for questioning Dean last night, for making his brother feel no doubt even worse. But even now he wanted to yell at his brother, tell him what John needed, what he wanted. Doing so in front of his father would score no brownie points.
“Dad are you sure I can’t call anyone?” Sam asked.
“No I’m fine son really. It’s just minor.”
“Dad how did this happen? You never get...hurt by anything that you hunt!”
John didn’t reply. He just nodded in that ‘I know’ way. Sad and slow.
Dean stood by the bed watching them both until they would meet his empty gaze and then he would look away and resort to watching the top of his sneakers.
Sam went out to get more bandages and cleaning wipes leaving Dean and John alone. Dean started to fix surgical tape to one of Johns many wounds.
“Was it my fault?” Dean asked, not for one second daring to stop fixing the dressing.
His father only sighed. John had worried about Dean, ever since it all went wrong, sometimes his concentration slips, strays. Dances of into ‘ I wonder if my boy’s are okay ‘ land. But not like this, never like this. He had never come home so bad before, never. The truth was it was Dean’s fault. He didn’t mean to be like this, his mind was just warped.
“No Dean.” John lied abruptly; the last thing he wanted was to openly tell Dean it was.
“You’re lying.” Dean replied, he looked at his father, his deep green eyes said it all,” Dad?”
“Yeah Dean. But just a little. This time I really did get careless.”
Dean lowered his head. He had known he kept his father and brother up at night. He knew that he had kept John from doing a lot of things, he knew he hurt his Dad and that every time he would ask was it him, John would lie. Tell him that no it wasn’t him, his freaked out, failure of a son. Dean also knew he only lied because he loved him, but somehow felt that John hated him. He didn’t know why.
“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered.
“For what Dean?”
“For...for being like this. For being a fuck up.” Dean was shaking.
“You’re scared.” John placed a hand on his son’s. Dean only ever shook when he was scared or cold and he couldn’t be cold it was almost 90 degrees,” What’s up son?”
Dean sighed. He wanted the chase; he wanted to chase the pain more than anything but if it meant hurting his father and his brother anymore well then his fun was over. He hated hurting his Dad. He wanted to make him proud of him, take his pills and stay on the rails instead of spending all of his time off them. He didn’t want to bottle up anymore.
That’s why he was so scared. Changing scared him more than anything in the world. Reality was waiting for him.
“Dad? Where are my pills?”