Chapter Text
“John called. He’ll be gettin you in the night, something about a werewolf in Nebraska.” Bobby said as he placed a plate of pancakes on the table. While it was indeed dinner, Sam had specifically requested breakfast. Dean wasn’t concentrated on the food. His stress came from John, and having to face him after everything.
Dean pushed the plate away. He couldn’t finish anything with stress tying him into knots. Bobby looked at him with sad eyes, but seemed to understand.
“Sorry, don’t feel great.” Dean said as he realized how it affected Bobby.
“I get it son, but it might help you feel better.”
“If I eat, it ain’t staying down.”
“You’ll feel worse if you stay hungry.”
Dean rolled his eyes and cut the pancakes into pieces. He forced a couple bites down before putting the fork back down.
“I’m scared.” Dean said. They were left because of him. His dad hated him. He was a failure.
“I know. He ain’t gonna do anything while you’re here. I’ll talk some sense into him.” Bobby said, hoping to reassure Dean again.
Silence fell between them as the night was painted through the sky. Dean grew more anxious with every waking hour. Sam was just excited to stay up too late with a bowl of popcorn, as the two were watching TV. They had packed up that afternoon, placing the bags by the door.
It was close to midnight when John pulled into the driveway. Dean felt every nerve spike with anxiety. He had the same flannel and first pair of jeans on him. Bobby had done laundry the night prior, washing the blood from them.
Dean was thankful.
John knocked at the door, and Bobby immediately sprung up.
“Boys, go upstairs for a few moments while I talk to yer dad.” Bobby said, shooing them away. Sam went back to his room, pulling out a small book he had been interested in earlier. Dean slid to the floor, leaning on the doorframe.
He had to know how the conversation went, how the next few months would be.
So he listened.
“Dean’s hurtin.” Bobby said, lowering his voice in the hopes that neither Sam nor Dean would hear him.
“What’d he tell you?” John grumbled.
“Nothing, but it ain’t hard to tell. Also ain’t hard to see how you feel about it, told me about the yelling.”
“What he’s doing, it’s stupid. He should know.”
“He does, but tellin’ him he’s some freak ain’t make it better.”
“He needs some sense knocked in him, if shame makes him stop-”
“It made it worse. Have ya seen him.”
“I know what my own son looks like-”
“He hides from you.”
John had gotten up and started stomping around the living room. The familiar anger in his footsteps.
“If fear makes him stop.” John barked.
“It ain’t doing anything. He’s only gettin worse. Dean needs a bit of kindness, a bit of support or somethin.” Bobby said. His own anger hadn’t reached the same level, but frustration creeped through.
“What a thought, what else should we do, skip through a field of daisies?” John asked, vitriol on his breath.
“Support isn’t weakness. He ain’t gonna go soft, but at least he’ll be eating.”
“Gotta teach him the consequences.”
“Of what John? He knows about em, sure as hell feels em. He ain’t carin.”
“What am I supposed to do?” John barked. “I ain’t havin a kid kill himself.”
Dean pulled a knee into his chest. No one knew he could hear anything, nor that he was even close. It was a punch to his gut, to hear how his dad truly thought about all this.
Dean was a burden. He burdened himself, but it was worse when he realized he burdened everyone around him.
John was worst of all.
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix this, John,” Bobby said, his voice lowered in an exasperation. “Ask im’ what he needs, and for gods sake don’t beat your own kid over his own pain.”
“When I saw those marks, I don’t know - I don’t understand how someone could do that, let alone Dean. I raised him, and he still-”
“He ain’t had an easy time.”
“And his first response was that? Now this?”
“Don’t think other hunters are different, no one got their head on straight. Not in this job.”
John had sat back down, much calmer now. Dean felt his heartbeat finally slow down.
“I don’t want him ending up sick because of this.”
“Dean’s stubborn, he’ll get through it. Just needs a bit of support, and not a punch to his gut,” Bobby said. Dean heard John get back up, starting to the door. “And if Dean tells me you did anything, I will make sure you regret it.”
Bobby started up the stairs, causing Dean to quickly retreat back to his room. He pulled another magazine from the pile, pretending he didn’t hear anything. There was a knock.
“Yeah.” Dean called. Bobby slowly opened the door.
“Listen, I talked to John. Might have some sense in him.”
“Thanks, uh. Sorry for ruining the weekend like this.” Dean said, putting the magazine back down on the stack.
“Nothin was ruined. I’m here for you boys, through it all.”
Dean got up, pulling the sleeves of his flannel back down to the wrist. His fingers were shaking with the remaining fear.
“If it gets bad I’ll call.” Dean said, hoping to reassure Bobby, who clearly believed nothing.
“Next time you come, you better look less dead.” Bobby said, pulling his arms around Dean for a hug. Dean chuckled awkwardly.
“I’ll try.”
“And if I get a call from John about a hospital-.” Bobby started.
“I promise I’ll be fine.”
Sam ran down the stairs first, meeting John at the door. Dean followed with shaky fingers. He looked to John, who was staring daggers into his skin - yet gave him a nod, as if he was trying to understand. Dean’s gaze flicked to the floor. He dragged his bag out the front door and into the Impala trunk.
The night sky was bright, no cloud lay upon the bed of stars. Dean looked out the front window, resting his head on the seat belt. The gravel of the driveway disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and everything had fallen into the same pattern.
Unending lines on the road, signs pointing to the interstate, leaves on the ground, illuminated with the headlights. They disappeared quickly into the background. Sam was in the back, and had already fallen asleep. John was listening to the radio quietly in the front.
It seemed both John and Dean understood the brevity of the situation.
Dean wanted to speak, though he was far too tired for more arguments. John held out a protein bar that had clearly been sitting in the glove compartment for a few days. Dean took it, noticing that John had smiled with the action.
Maybe the pattern could change.