Work Text:
Dean could count on one hand the number of times his dad left him with a surplus of money when he left for a quick hunt. None the less, Dean did everything he could with what he had. Besides, Sam was old enough to understand that maybe he should buy the top Ramon instead of the pack of cookies. Or at least, Dean hoped so. It was the third night John had been gone and the money was just about non existent. He was only 17, barely old enough to pass as 21. Although, when he put on his dad's old, worn out leather jacket and plastered his confident grin on, it would work on the bartender just about every time.
Tonight was no exception, he was an hour in on playing pool and was already 70$ richer. He was just about to call it a night and take the opponents money when his phone started to ring.
"Hello?"
"Dean, get your ass back here." With that, his dad's gravely voice cuts out and Dean gives a loud sigh. He looks up at the truck driver he was about to hussle for 40$.
"Keep it." Dean growls and snatches up his jacket before making his way out of the dead beat bar. He shoves his hands deep in his pocket to keep away from the biting air of November, then begins his trek back to the hotel room.
He shoves open the door and shivers when he takes his hands out of the jacket. His Dad and Sam are on opposite ends of the room. Both red in the face, indicating yet another yelling match. John jerks off of the wall he was slouched on.
"Where the fuck have you been boy?" He looks at Dean with anger clear on his face, "I specifically told you it watch Sam." Sam throws their dad a glare, looking ready to resume an unresolved fight. The look Dad sends him shuts the youngest up.
Dean wants to snap, gripping the wad of cash tight in his pocket. Wants to tell his dad to piss off, that he went and earned some money to keep them fed.
"Sorry sir." Is the response instead. John sends him yet another familiar look, one that states, "We'll talk about it later." Which really means that Dean will get yelled at while Sammy is in school.
"We have a job, it needs to be done now. Dean your coming with me. Sam, go to school tomorrow morning, we'll be back by the time you get home." With that, the ex-marine exits the room with a bag full of weapons. Not giving Sam any time to argue.
Dean spares a glance at his little brother.
"I'll be home before you know it, maybe you can finally get the balls to ask Cindy on a date by tomorrow night." Dean throws him a smirk and Sam pouts like he always does, but unsuccessfully tries to mask his own smile.
"Jerk."
"Bitch!" Dean calls as he heads out the door and climbs into the impala.
-//-
"So what are we hunting?" Dean asks his dad when they reach their 2 hour marker in the car, but he already has his guess as they drive down yet another dirt road.
"Windigo." Dean nods his head, his assumption correct.
"Should be a simple hunt, no ones in danger. Yet. You know the drill."
"Yes sir." Of course Dean knows the drill, he's done it enough times by now.
"Alright, let's get this done." They both climb out of the impala and reach for their duffle bags.
"From the research I did, this one isn't too deep. About 3 miles in. Then we'll split up in 2 miles. Walk around for about twenty minutes. Hopefully it'll start hunting one of us. After the time ends, walk back to my direction." Dean half heartily listens. He's heard the speech a handfuls of times, it's not his first windigo hunt.
As they walk into the woods, neither of them talk. About thirty minutes into the walk John speaks up.
"Your supposed to watch Sammy. I thought I made that clear." Dean stiffens, of course his dad made that clear. It's been ingrained in him since he was four: watch out for Sammy.
"Dad, he's 13, almost 14. He's eats. A lot. I had to go get more money, we were running out." He paused for a moment before defending his decision," besides, I was only gone for less than an hour."
"You of all people should know what can happen when you step out of the room." Dad doesn't refer to it often, but when he wants to make his point clear he always refers back to Deans first mistake, the shertiga.
Dean shuts up after that, there isn't much Dean can say to even make John question his opinion.
They stop not long after, John goes over the plan again.
"Don't think that because of our talk that I'm not still upset with you. After this hunt we will be having words. This family should be your first priority, not hussling at a bar." With that, John twists his heels in the dirt and heads north. Dean mumbles a 'yes sir'. Before taking his leave, heading south.
The twenty minutes go by fast, when they're up Dean starts walking back. No sign of a windigo stalking him. He's about 15 minutes into the walk back when he hears a gun shot go off.
Dean starts in a dead sprint, coming to the clearing he and his dad last saw each other.
"DAD?" The woods are quite, eerily so. Dean holds his shotgun ready, the flame torch strapped hazardously across his back.
John comes running into the clearing, the windigo clearly galloping toward the both of them.
"Looks like he got tired of waiting." Dean comments, pressing the trigger on the shotgun, hitting the windigo square in the chest. Which doesn't slow the creature down for a second.
Dean throws the gun to the floor and swings the flame thrower in front of him instead. Before the Wjndigo got in shooting distance, John yells a surprised shout as he is lifted in the air by an undefined object, then tossed back.
"There's two!" Dean watches his dead scramble back to his feet, looking a little unsteady. Although, not enough to cause Dean any alarm.
Dean rolls out of the way of the first windigo. Blasting a flame in its direction, but not hitting its target. John shoots the other with his sawed off shotgun. This making more of an impact on the creature then deans did. But not enough for it to stay down for long.
It gets back up faster then his dad anticipated, and swipes at him hard, sending him into the side of a tree. His head meets the trunk with a loud thunk.
Dean spins to yell at his dad, but the crossed eyed face his dad is making gives him no indication that he'll be going back in the fight.
"Fuck it." Dean sprint at one of the windigos, catching it off guard and it goes up in flames before it can do much.
Dean flips around, but the surviving creature is no where in sight.
The middle Winchester keeps his eyes to the trees, knowing that's the windigos favorite place to attack from. There's a snap behind him and he shoots around, before he can fight back, the windigo swipes at his side sending a warm feeling up his body. Fortunately for Dean, the canible doesn't jump out of the way quick enough to avoid deans flame thrower. Unfortunately for Dean, he can't escape his own weapon, the hairs on his arm singing off, along with his hands skin becoming increasingly hot.
The remaining windigo shoots up in flames, leaving Dean with two piles of ash and a completely out of it father to lug back to the car. Not to mention his own burned hands, "family first" his dad's voice rings in his head.
With a grunt, Dean tugs his dad up, sighing when he notices the blood stains on his dad's shirt blossoming and heads toward the car.
By the time they stumble upon the impala, the sky has turned black and Dean slides John into the backseat. Careful not to jostle him.
Dean then gets into the drivers side and turns on the ignition, and tries to find their way back to Sammy in the pitch black of night.
Deans skin pulls tight as he concentrates on getting the both of them home, his own injures making Dean painfully aware of them. By the time Dean pulls into the hotel parking lot the sky is lighter, nearing the early morning.
He circles his dad's arm around his shoulder and half drags him to the door before shouting at Sam to open up the door. He knocks once more before Sam jerks the door open.
"Wha!- Fuck!"
"Language!" Dean glares at his brother before shoving him to the side and pulling his dad further into the room toward one of the beds.
"What happened?" Sam demands as he walks to Dean, the medical kit already being shoved into the older brothers slightly shaking hands.
"There were two."
"So dad messed up on the research." Sam snorts.
"No." Dean snaps, ending that conversation before it could begin. Sam rolls his eyes but assists Dean in getting their dads shirt off.
"Grab something out of the kit for concussions, will yea?" Sam moves and shuffles through a small pile of pill bottles before snatching the right one up. Thrusting it toward his brother quickly.
Dean rolls three white pills into the palm
of his hand, before forcing his barley cognitive dad to sallow them.
"Pass the whiskey." Sam shoots dean a glare.
"Concussions and alcohol aren't supposed to mix Dean."
"You don't think I know that. Pass the fucking bottle Sam." Dean snaps, but his younger brother doesn't move. Dean sighs, "Look, I have to sew him up, it's gonna hurt like a bitch, the more his mind is clouded, the better. So pass the bottle." Sam nods and grabs the whiskey, pouring a decent amount down the fathers throat.
"Ok." Dean mumbles to himself, taking the bottle from Sam and pouring a generous amount on his dad's wounds.
They both stitch him up, and even Dean praise the both of them a bit, it's a damn good one. Probably the best the two have ever accomplished. In the next hour their dad is passed out on the bed.
"Alright, let's hit the sack Sammy. I'm beat."
"Yeah, you look it, youre sure you're ok?" Sam gives Dean an up down, but chalks the paleness down to tiredness as the older brother nods his head, "I'm peachy Sam."
The young Winchester falls into bed with a sigh, and begins to snore within the minute.
Dean stares at what little family he has left, before heading to the bathroom. It's time to clean himself up.
Dean looks at himself in the mirror. Striking green eyes stare back, not to mention bloodshot.
He turns on the sink and washes the blood that coats his hands, badly burned hands are uncovered underneath the blood. He doesn't dwell on this and continues to in story the rest of his body. Arms looks fine, only having a slight red tinge. Like he spent too much time in the sun. His face looked tired, but no physical damage. Dean took off his shirt. His chest, on the other hand, was a mess. Claw marks streaked across the skin, blood still dripping down the skin. Blue already forming on his chest, he'll have a bruise, and a bad one at that.
Despite how tired he is, he cleans himself up. And sloppily stitches his self up. He makes sure all the blood is moped up before wrapping his hands. Deciding he'll just tell his brother and dad that the windingo cut his palms.
He flops into bed and falls into a deep sleep.
-//-
Dean wakes up in a cloudy haze of pain. He jerks up in bed and immediately regrets it, a wave of pain crashes into him. He cracks his eyes open and the hotel room is still dark, both Sam and John are snoring lightly.
He gets up and walks to the bathroom, albeit, about 10x slower then usual. He looks at his hands and can tell that something is going to need I be done, the normal 3 advils won't cut it this time.
He gingerly lifts up his shirt.
"Fuck" The wound is red and inflamed, obviously not doing well by any means. He snatched the bottle of hydrogen peroxide off the counter and bravely puts the liquid down his stomach. The cut explodes into a white cloud. He grips at the edge of the counter, waiting for the shooting pin to dissipate a little.
When it does he wraps the wound again before heading back to bed, not anything more he could do for himself.
Dean slips back into darkness.
-//-
The next time Dean wakes up, it's not as painful, but not comfortable either. Sam is up, talking to dad while they both munch on the cereal Dean stole from the hotel building.
When they see that Dean has woken up Sam grabs another bowl. While Dean focuses on pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Dean." His dad's voice brings his attention away from the swirling cup of brown coffee.
"Yea?"
"You did a good job, I'm sorry I couldn't have been more help."
"It's fine." Dean shrugs. Not wanting to really talk about anything, let alone talk about his feelings with his dad.
"No it isn't, I messed up and you were forced to deal with it. I'm proud of you son." Dean snorts and walks toward the fridge for milk.
"Something funny to you Dean?" John challenges, Sam watches the ordeal with wide eyes. Dean being rude to their dad isn't a common thing. But Dean really isn't in the mood to bullshit right now. How neither of them notice his hands is
A clear sign that they're all too tired.
"No sir, it's just that you weren't saying that before I saved your ass."
"I won't stand for this kind of disrespect!" John pulls out his marine voice and Dean doesn't snap to attention like usual.
"It's a good thing that I don't really care then, isn't it?" Sams eyes grow wide. But not for the reason Dean thinks.
"Dean!" Sam yells, pointing to his stomach. Dean looks down and sees his grey shirt become bloody as his wounds must have soaked through the wrap.
Dean, not paying attention to the pain before, becomes aware of how dizzy he feels. He looks back up to his family, his dad's expression changing from anger to concern. Deans eyes roll back and he crashes to the floor. He recognizes that one of them shout and jumps forward but he blacks out before he knows if one of them successfully caught him or not.
-//-
"Dean! DEAN!" John shouts, laying his son on the kitchen floor. Sam has already retrieved the med kit.
John notices the small patches of blood soaked onto his sons shirt and takes the scissors from Sam. He cuts deans shirt open and is met with white gauze soaked through with blood.
"Sammy, did Dean tell you about this?" John questions angrily, not understanding how this could happen.
"N-No, he seemed fine last night, I swear!" John gingerly unwraps the bandages and grimaced at the sight.
"Fuck." Sam mumbles and his dad nods, sharing the opinion.
"Sam, you're gonna need to help." John starts to cut the self stitches out, when Dean jerks up.
"Ge'off!" Dean grumbles, with a weak attempt to get his dad off of him, he pushes at the mans arms. Deans eyes lull back and forth, unfocused but trying to make sense what was happening.
"Dean, stay down. I need to fix this mess." John pushes Dean back down and the middle Winchester doesn't have enough energy to fight back. All of his adrenaline drained, he slumps back to the floor.
John takes a deep breath and patches up the wound to the bests of his abilities. By the next hour the stitches look a whole lot better. John collapses against one of the old dingy couches, exhausted from the last few hours. He looked at his youngest son who was leaning against the blood smeared counter, clearly lost in thought. Johns eyes land on Dean, who was currently laying unconscious on the couch opposite of him. His skin is a few shades paler then normal, making his freckles stand out. If a stranger were to walk into the room they would probably assume the young man was dead. John could still hear his sons cries echoing in his head when he has to pour alcohol onto his wounds, his screams when he had to restitch them and then his silence as the pain overtook his mind.
John was first and utmost a marine, and marines don’t flinch at blood or gory wounds. But today, John truly felt lost. The same feeling overtook him only twice before. When he saw his wife on the ceiling, and once more when he found out the truth behind her death. Dean, who looks so much like mary, has the same energy as she once did. Dean, who almost died today, just like Mary. And it was all Johns fault. He was the one who fucked up the research that almost got his own son killed.
“Not again,” he thought,
“Never again.” Johns train of thought was interrupted when Dean shifts on the couch and his eyes blink open lazily. John leaps up, ready to apologize to his son, beg him for forgiveness.
“Dean-“ before John can get another word out, Deans slurred speech interrupts him.
“I’m sssorry you got... hurt daad, I was- wasnt fast enoughh... it, it wont happenn ag-again... promisee.” Deans eyes close once more as darkness overtakes him once more.
John feels a tear slide down his cheek as he pats Dean on the shoulder.
“I know son, I know.” John looks up at Sam. A look of hatred is plastered on his face, John knows its not toward Dean.
Sams eyes never truly lost that look of anger when his father was involved.