And the Ground Shook (15/22)
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they own me.
Rating: Gen, with very mild language.
Category: Gen.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Hurt!Dean, John, Sam.
Summery: "What's the password?" "Dean?" John was more than surprised to see his oldest not only out of bed, but also holding a .45 firmly in his hands, pointed at John's head. "What are you doing out of bed?" Dean cocked the gun. "I said, what's the password?" Dean repeated coolly, and Sam raised the shotgun again...
Comments: Are loved and coveted.
Notes: Pre-series, AU. Not a deathfic. Lots of Dean-whumping, though. Will be updated regularly.
And the Ground Shook
Chapter Fifteen - Fractures
John didn’t wait for the storm to die down. He got in his truck and floored the gas pedal. He stopped once, to gas up the car and buy some food, and kept going. He called Sam from the motel he stopped at for the night. Sam sounded calmer this time, saying Dean was asleep, and that he was doing slightly better. John slept for four hours before getting back on the road, and didn't stop until he got home.
It was raining when he got back to the house. It was damn cold, too. John took a look around the house first, before getting in, just to make sure everything seemed all right. It was still dark outside due to the rain, but the lights were on in the house. John used his key to unlock the door and opened it. He frowned. A shotgun, probably loaded, was propped up against the wall, ready for use. There was a thick line of salt before the door. And…
"Jeez, Sammy, put that down, would you?"
"Dad?" Sam breathed in relief, lowering the sawed off shotgun in his hands. "You scared the shit out of me. We heard someone in the back…"
"Yeah, I wanted to make sure the place was secure." John said, "What's with the salt? I thought I told you…"
"What's the password?"
"Dean?" John was more than surprised to see his oldest not only out of bed, but also holding a .45 firmly in his hands, pointed at John's head. "What are you doing out of bed?" Dean cocked the gun.
"I said, what's the password?" Dean repeated coolly, and Sam raised the shotgun again, inching towards the shotgun near the door, shooting hesitant glances from his brother to his father.
"Pinky and the Brain." John said, "And it's about time you chose a password that's not a cartoon, Sammy." he added. Sam lowered the shotgun again, glancing at Dean, who was still pointing the gun at his father. Dean clenched his jaw, staring at his old man for another moment, before he un-cocked his gun and lowered it, tucking it in the back of his jeans. John gave a slight nod, stepping over the salt line and closing the door. "Now, you want to tell me what the hell's going on?" John demanded. Sam glanced at Dean. John followed suit. "You weren’t supposed to get out of bed." He said accusingly.
"Yeah? Well, you weren’t supposed to go anywhere." Dean said, turning his back on his father and going in the kitchen.
"Sam?"
"Dean thought he saw something. We wanted to make sure, you know, be safe." Sam explained. John nodded.
"I thought I told you about the salt." He said, peeling away his wet coat and kicking his boots off. Thank heavens the place was heated up.
"I know, but Dean insisted." Sam shrugged. "You had any breakfast yet? We made eggs. I think there's some left. And I can make you some toast." He offered.
"Yeah, that'd be great, son. Any coffee?" John asked.
"No. Dean made some, but I poured it down the drain. Doctor said he shouldn’t be drinking coffee, right?" John smiled at his youngest.
"I bet he didn't take that very well." John said and Sam smiled back.
"Probably why he's so cranky." Sam said.
"You mind making some?" John asked. Sam nodded, following his father to the kitchen. Dean was leaning against the wall, hands crossed over his chest.
"You got hurt." He noted. The bump on John's head was pretty hard to miss. The hunter gave him a long look.
"Good thing I got a thick head, huh?" he smiled. Dean stared blankly at him for a moment, and then left the kitchen. A second later, John could hear the TV in the other room. John sighed, looking at his youngest. "You mind telling me what's going on, Sammy?" he asked. Sam didn’t look at him. He made the coffee, brought his father the cup, but didn’t look at him.
"You shouldn’t have left." Sam said quietly.
"I did what I had to do." John argued. Sam smiled bitterly, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Why is he out of bed?" John asked, taking a sip of the hot coffee. It was doing wonders to heat him up.
"Because he's too stubborn to stay in bed. He's either too weak to even open his eyes, or he's acting like nothing's ever happened, like he can go on a hunt right now if he needed to." Sam said, irritation evident in his voice.
"So he's doing better?" John asked. He really didn’t expect that.
"No." Sam said, looking at his father now, and suddenly the hot coffee wasn’t enough to keep the older man warm. "He acts like everything's okay. He acts like nothing's happened. He cooks, and jokes, and watches TV, and bosses me around. And then, at some point, he just passes out. Just… falls down and stays down. For hours." Sam said tersely. "First couple of times that happened, I was sure he'd even stopped breathing." Sam went on coolly, "But then he wakes up and…" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Like he's got something to prove or something."
John considered Sam's words for a moment while drinking his coffee. Sam brought over the leftover eggs and made his father some toast. The food was cold, but it's been a long time since the older man had had anything to eat. Sam sat next to his father.
"So, did you find it?" he asked.
"Yes." John answered around a mouthful of toast and eggs.
"And?" Sam pushed as John ate his breakfast. John ate quietly for a moment and then sighed, looking at his youngest.
"And we've got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it." The hunter admitted. "I need you in full research mode. Think you're up to it?" Sam raised a brow.
"What are you looking for?" he asked. John sipped from his coffee.
"A way to save your brother's life." He answered, getting to his feet and heading for the living room, coffee in hand. Sam started to follow, but John stopped him.
"Sammy, I need a moment alone with your brother. Why don't you do the dishes, clean up a little?" John suggested. Sam rolled his eyes, and reluctantly did as he was told.
The eldest Winchester sat on the couch next to his son, both of them staring at the TV.
"What are we watching?" John asked, taking another sip of his coffee.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Dean asked, not bothering to look at his old man.
"No, just in this state." John said, staring at the TV. "And Minnesota. I always get my ass kicked in Minnesota." He added in an attempted of humor. Which failed miserably. Dean simply changed the channel on the TV. John sighed. "She really does sneak up on you, doesn’t she?" he asked, smiling a small smile. Dean remained expressionless. "I'm fine, kiddo." John sighed, putting his coffee down on the small, rickety, coffee table. "Got some bruises, but nothing serious." He admitted. That earned him an angry glare.
"You could've died!" Dean accused, "And then what? Did you even think about that? Did you even think about Sammy? About what was going to happen to him after I…"
"You're not going to die, Dean!" John said firmly. Dean snorted, rolling his eyes, and changed the channel again. John just sat there quietly for a moment.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment. Dean shrugged.
"I'm fine."
"Why don’t you go lie down for a while?" John suggested.
"I said, I'm fine!" Dean insisted, glaring at his father.
"How's your stomach?" John asked. Dean ignored him, changing channels without stopping long enough to even see what was on. "You know, you really scared your brother." John went on. Dean kept ignoring him. The older man scratched his short beard. "I found her. The witch." John said softly. At that, Dean turned.
"Found her? Or did she find you?" he demanded. John sighed, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. Dean shrugged him off.
"I'm really okay, kiddo. Been hurt worse by spirits. Won't even leave a mark, I promise." John said gently, seeing the tension in his son's shoulders.
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Dean demanded. John said nothing. There was nothing to say. "Did you kill her?" Dean asked a moment later. John studied him for a moment. He wasn’t pale, but he still seemed tired. John scratched his eyebrow.
"No. Killing her won't stop it." He said after a moment.
"Then what will?" Dean asked in a small voice. John stared at him for a long moment. Dean was so much like his mother it made John's head spin sometimes. His gentle features, his eyes, his hands, it reminded him so much of his Mary, reminded him of what he was fighting for.
"You have to do what she asked you to do, that's the only way." John said finally. Dean shook his head, looking away from his father.
"No. No way. That's out of the question." He said sternly.
"Dean,"
"I'm not doing it, Dad!" John took the remote control from his son's hand, turning the TV off. "I'm not doing it!" Dean repeated defiantly.
"She knows." The older man said softly. Dean wrinled his brow, looking questioningly at his father. "We had a long talk. I was able to… convince her that this will be pointless, that no good can come of this. That you would die, and she still won't have what she wants." John said. Dean just looked at him, waiting. "We've come to a more… lucrative agreement." Dean stared suspiciously at his father.
"What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"Why don’t you go to bed? Rest a little, I think it'll do you good." The father suggested.
"What's the new agreement, Dad?" Dean insisted.
"I'm taking care of it." John said, pushing himself off the couch. Dean practically jumped to his feet.
"Dad, tell me you didn’t do something stupid! Tell me you didn’t trade yourself or Sammy…" John put his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Go lie down, son."
"Dad…"
"We have to find something for her. An artifact." John relented. Dean studied him, trying to decide if he was being lied to. "I promise, son. Now, go lie down." But Dean didn’t move. He'd been promised things before, his father broke his promises all the time. "Dean…"
"Tell me you didn’t…"
"I didn’t." John stopped him. "But I swear, Dean, if you don’t get your ass in bed in three minutes, I'm gonna kick it so hard you'd wish it was that witch you were facing, you got me?" he clipped. Dean studied him a moment before nodding.
"Okay." He said, and headed for his room. John watched him go and rubbed his chin. Dean looked better. A lot better. But he knew from experience; looks can be deceiving. Time was running out.
John closed himself in his room with his journal and the phone. He couldn’t remember ever hearing about the Scepter of Amara, and he didn’t have the time to look for it by himself. He called every one of his contacts for help. No one has heard of it, but they all promised to look.
By the time John came out of his room, Dean was fast asleep, and Sam was in the living room, reading from his sociology book, trying to keep up with the schoolwork he was missing.
Hearing the door to his father's room open, Sam lifted his head from the book he was reading. "Anything?" he asked.
"Not yet." John sighed. "How's your brother?"
"Sleeping." Sam said. "So, what are we looking for?" he asked. John rubbed his tired eyes.
"The takeout menus." He said. "I'm starving."
"By the fridge." Sam said, getting to his feet. "And then?" John raised a brow.
"And then?"
"After we eat?" Sam pushed.
"We're leaving." The older man answered.
"To go where?" Sam persisted.
"We need to find a scepter."
"A scepter?" Sam asked in bewilderment mixed with amusement.
"Yeah, that's what I said…"
Dean was slow to wake up. He blinked a few times, sitting up slowly, and grunted at the light in his eyes. He pulled the covers around him, scratching at his head, his hair sticking up all over.
"What's going on?" he asked, seeing his brother packing a bag for the both of them.
"We're going on a hunt." Sam said, folding a few of his brother's thickest shirts and stuffing them into the bag. Thunder rolled outside.
"And you're taking my stuff?" Dean asked. Sam stopped his packing, glancing at his brother.
"You're coming, too." He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dean rubbed his brow tiredly.
"I don’t think so." He said. "Too tired, Sammy. I'll only slow you guys down."
"Tough." Sam said, "You're coming. You should get dressed." He added a few more pairs of socks and underwear to the bag before zipping it up. Dean blinked owlishly a few more times, his mind a little slow to wake up for some reason.
"What are we hunting?" Dean asked as he got out of bed. He stumbled back down when the vertigo hit him.
"Dean?" Sam looked at his older brother worriedly. Dean pressed a hand to his head, eyes closed, waiting for the dizziness to pass. "You okay?"
"Dizzy." Dean said, "And tired. Maybe I should stay here."
"Dad said you're coming." Sam said, shouldering the heavy bag. "You should get dressed. It's really cold out." And as if to prove a point, the whole house shook at the sound of rolling thunder.
"Sammy, I don’t think I can…"
"You boys ready?" John asked as he walked in the room, his coat a little wet from the rain outside.
"All packed. Dean just needs to get dressed, and we're ready." Sam reported. Dean swallowed.
"Dad, I don’t think I should come with you." he said in a small voice. John frowned.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I'll slow you down." Dean said, "I'm way off the top of my game." He admitted, grabbing his pillow and holding it to his chest, resting his head on top of it.
"Are you in pain?" John asked worriedly. Dean shook his head slowly, too tired to even answer. "Can you read?" John asked. Dean looked puzzled at the question. "Get dressed, you're not staying here."
"But…" Dean stuttered. "You're going to stick me with research?" he asked. That was actually good. It was something he could do, no matter how much he hated it or how boring it was - he could still help. It would, however, require him to get up from the bed.
"We're all on research duty for now." John said. Dean looked up at him quizzically. "Remember I told you about the deal I made with the witch?" John asked, and Dean nodded lightly. "Well, we need to find something for her, bring it to her." John explained.
"We're going to Bobby's?" Dean asked, pushing himself off the bed and over to the closet, where Sam handed him a fresh shirt and a hoodie.
"No, I don’t think it's something like that. It's something old, very old." John said. He watched as Dean changed his clothes slowly, stiffly, leaning heavily against the closet.
"Then where are we going?" Dean asked once he managed to pull the hoodie over his head. John smiled.
"We're going to visit an old friend with the largest collection of old things you guys know." He said. Dean just blinked and shrugged, fighting to keep his eyes open. The pressure in his chest was back, and it was getting stronger.
"Can't we look it up online or something?" he suggested, slumping back down on his bed. John eyed him for a long moment.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked. Dean shrugged.
"She told you she wanted you to bring her some thing?" he asked, studying his father.
"She told me she wanted you to bring her some thing." John said. "Are you sure you're okay? You don’t look so good." He observed.
"Why?" Dean asked.
"Because I really don’t want to be cleaning up puke from my truck, so if you think you're…" John started but Dean held up his hand to stop him.
"Why'd she want this thing? Why did she agree?" he pressed. John glanced at Sam, and then looked back at Dean. He sighed, sitting next to his son.
"I guess she's a reasonable person," John said, touching his hand to his son's forehead. Dean didn’t have a fever. He did, however, lean into the touch; which was very un-Deanlike. "She was smart enough to realize no good would come to her if you died and she didn’t get what she wanted, so she said you could find her this thing instead." John finished.
"What's so special about this thing?" Dean asked, "Why does she want it?" John sighed, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up as well.
"I don’t know." John grunted, "No one knows. No one's heard of this thing." He said, motioning Sam to go ahead and head on to the car. "That's why you're so not getting out of research. Tired or not, you are so not pulling the asthma thing on me. I know you're just making it up."
"Am not," Dean said in a small voice, leaning against his father as they made their way outside. "I'm totally allergic to boring."
TBC
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