Chapter Text
He was definitely not putting this in his journal.
John sat on a gurney; grateful he was curtained off from the rest of the ER, making it easier to wallow in self-disgust.
Black dog; it wasn't even an adult. Just one out of four pups in a nest abandoned after he'd killed their mother. But he was distracted. And he knew better than to go on a hunt distracted. But he did it anyway and all he got was a bunch of stitches in his back; the cuts too deep and too far for him to do it himself. And the nest was still out there.
Stitches pulling in his back forced John to stay where he was; least for the night. Rest up, give the stitches a chance to heal or at least not pull so tight on him when he lifted his shotgun. Just one night and Michael Anthony could slip back out to hunt the pack.
He closed his eyes, not truly sleeping, keeping his ears open for anything out of place.
"Well, here we are, Mr. Webber. Shouldn't be more than an hour to get the CT results back."
John frowned to himself when a weary voice gave his thanks. He turned his head, eying the white curtain that served as a partition. A tall shadow dropped heavily into the chair by the newest gurney. The newcomer shifted, the seat creaking and groaning, until he finally settled down, half-slumped into the chair, curtain shadowed hands covering his face.
John narrowed his eyes. The speaker was soft-spoken, but not by nature. He could tell exhaustion, worry, and an unidentifiable emotion robbed the voice's power. But even though it was a shade of itself, a nagging suspicion in his mind whispered that it was familiar.
"Dude, this is the last time I'm letting you fill those applications out," a deeper voice groaned out from the gurney. The shadow jerked and sat up.
"You're awake." The relief in the voice was palpable.
John closed his eyes. It was just as he feared. He was tempted to leave, stitches be damned. He painfully sat up when Dean's voice grumbled out, barely audible beyond the area.
"Seriously, dude," Dean rasped out. "Warren Webber? Potsie?" Another shadow shakily sat up on the gurney. He grunted as he pushes himself up on the elbows. "Crap, to think that was the runt of the litter."
John frowned, listening to Dean hiss in pain as he maneuvered his body to sit up higher. John lay back, looking intently at the curtain. He wished he could chance going around it. See for himself they were all right.
"What are you doing? Lie down, man," Sam pushed Dean back down on the bed. "And what's wrong with that name?"
"Potsie?"
"Better than those musician names," Sam snorted.
What's wrong with those names, John thought with a flash of annoyance.
"What's wrong with those names?" Dean demanded.
John smirked to himself.
"Sooner or later, someone's going to—what are you doing?"
"Leaving," Dean ground out. A brief struggle with the tubing and Dean managed to swivel his legs around. "Where are my boots?"
"In the back seat," Sam returned absently. "Dean, why don't we wait for the x-rays at least?"
"Sam, I'm fine," Dean said, annoyed. "Wrap them up and sleep it off, it'll be fine."
"Let's just be sure." John narrowed his eyes, picking up on the shakiness in the voice Sam wasn't able to hide completely. "It slammed into you pretty hard. There could be internal injuries or—"
"We've had a lot worse before and didn't need the hospital then. Come on, we can pick up supplies and do this ourselves..." Dean's shadow began to list. Sam immediately came over, ducked under his shoulder, propping his brother up. Their shadows merged at that moment into a solid mass, breaking apart when Dean pushed Sam aside.
"Dean, what's wrong? Are you okay? I'll get the nurse—" Sam yelped when an arm reached over, grabbing him by the shoulder, whirling him around.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam yanked his arm back.
"What's wrong with me? What the hell's wrong with you?" Dean snapped.
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked flatly.
"Look, I don't know what's got you so worked up," Dean fumed, "Hell, I couldn't drag you to the hospital last week and it was definitely a hell of a lot worse than this!"
John frowned. He studied the two shadows apart from each other, Sam's shadow tight and contained as he wrapped arms around himself.
"That's different!"
"What's different? Sam—"
"Because it's you, you idiot!" Sam barked back. He then sucked in his breath and took a step back.
Dean didn't make a move towards Sam. He sounded stunned. "…Sam."
"Before…when that black dog jumped you…" John heard a deep breath rattle in the pause. "I saw you grab your chest and I thought…" There was a quaver in Sam's voice and he sat down as if his strength left him. "I thought you might be having a heart attack," he admitted reluctantly.
John closed his eyes. He could hear Sam's message again; choked, the tears audible in his voice, and a determination bordering on irrationality. The same voice that lurked in the back of his mind as he hunted the mother black dog.
"A heart attack?" Disbelieving. Dean fell silent. "Is that what's this has been all about?"
"What do you mean?"
"This past week. The nightmares. The not eating. You've been walking around like you're checked out. And you've been, I don't know, like watching me, waiting to see if I start ralphing pea soup or spinning my head." He pause, then after in a lower voice. "Don't worry, okay? You'd cured me."
"Sue Ann cured you," Sam whispered, "And now she's dead."
"Sam, I'm okay. Nothing's going to happen. We went to Nebraska, pulled a fast one over the reaper, and Dean Winchester lives to see another day."
They fell into a silence; too loud to be okay, too loud to be nothing.
"You're still mad," Sam said slowly as if he didn't want to know.
Rough exhale. "A man died, Sam. I stole somebody's life."
"You mean I stole somebody's life," Sam returned bitterly.
"Sam, I don't blame you." Dean replied immediately.
Sam went on as if he didn't hear him. "I've looked everywhere. Called everyone in Dad's book. I even called Dad. And I got nothing. Nothing! If Joshua hadn't called me about that faith healer—"
John sucked in his breath. Exactly why he couldn't come. He couldn't meet up with his boys, bringing the demon right to them. It would see Sam's desperation as clearly as John had heard it in his voicemail. And the demon would approach Sam; a bargain for Dean's life. And Sam would take it without hesitation.
"Tell me this," Dean asked slowly. He cleared his throat. "Did you know? Did you suspect anything?"
"No. Dean, I swear, I didn't know."
Dean was quiet. John had to lean closer to the corner of the curtain. "Would you have taken me there if you did know?"
A sigh and Sam sank lower into the chair. He responded in a barely audible voice. "I don't know. I-I think I would have anyway."
"Damn it," Dean exhaled. "I didn't want this, Sam."
Standing in a rained out gas station in Running Springs, John had stood in the old phone booth, receiver clutched in his hand as he'd gotten the news from Caleb that his boy lived. The same phone he used to called Joshua to tell him about Nebraska. But although Caleb knew the end results, the details had always been sketchy.
"Don't you think I know that? It's just," Sam's voice hitched as if it were painful to speak; hurts to even acknowledge it. "I can't do this alone. I'm not Dad."
"Well, hell, I'm not Dad either."
"You could be. You could be like Dad, doing it on your own. You did before."
John leaned his head against the wall, his shoulder all but brushing the curtain. His ears straining as Dean whispered "Maybe I don't want to." And silence fell between them as if all the air was sucked out.
After Mary. After everything. John had walked the road alone. It had been right for him. But it wasn't right for his boys. Sometimes a man needed a shadow. Even in his low moments, or maybe especially in his low moments when all he could feel was his own heart beating. He'd thought for Sam that shadow was Dean. A protector, a brother who would always be there for him. So that Sammy would always have someone to rely on. To feel safe with. To leap into the back of an ambulance and grab him.
But in fact, being needed, being relied on, having someone at his shoulder was just as much a salvation for Dean as well.
Dean's voice came as a shock for Sam and him. "Maybe I like having a snot nosed little brother always chasing after me. Playing Bryan Adams or other feel good emo crap when he thinks I'm too busy napping to notice he's swapped tapes." Dean audibly shrugged, clearing his throat. "It's sort of, you know, predictable."
"Little?" Sam asked after a moment with some amusement.
"Yeah, well, you used to be. I can still take you down though," Dean groused.
"Sure, Dean."
"Come here you wannabe yeti so I can beat your sorry..."
Sam's laugh was a relief to hear. "You keep on thinking that if it makes you feel better."
"Makes me feel better? Dude, you're the one who obviously needs to feel better. Wanting to hold hands and stuff just because of a little bitty black puppy dog."
"A dog they should have named Cujo, dude."
"Well, Cujo probably has nest mates somewhere around here and we're not doing any good finding them lying around." Dean grunted, wiggling in the gurney, probably trying to figure out how to get off without jarring his ribs. He threw up his hands.
"So are you going to help me up or what?"
"No." Sam made no move to stand.
"No? Is that Latin, for 'yes'?"
"You know it's not. We're staying. At least until we see the x-rays."
His boy went on arguing. But John didn't need to listen to any more; he limped back to the gurney as the words being bantered continued to sail past the thin material. Sam wasn't about to let Dean do anything foolish to risk himself, and Dean would still watch out for his little brother even in bed. Maybe in all the insanity, of walking the line, John had actually inadvertently gotten something right when he'd given Sam to Dean.
John nudged his bag out from under the chair with his foot so he could bend awkwardly to pick it up, Dean was right. Cujo Junior and the other demon spawn pups needed to be taken care of. He could manage that much at least as give for his boys on his way out of town.
It occurred to him Dean looked weary, tired, staying alert out of sheer will. Even pale and barely not-dead in the hospital bed, Dean looked out for his brother, was alert enough to cast a worried look up and down Sam when he first woke. And John realized that look was always there.
"I want you to watch out for Sammy."
"Yeah Dad, you know I will."
And inside, John smiled, knowing it to be true.
Everything in their life led him to believe it.