It was early in the morning and I had hardly slept. The moment the early morning sun began filtering into the room, I was out of bed and wandering the halls yet again. I was steadily growing irritable, being trapped in a building that lacked color and any sort of emotion. What didn't reek of chemicals and antiseptic smelled like sickness. I hated it.
I shrugged on my leather jacket, donning the clothes I usually wore. I was tired of the mandated hospital clothing – I would be leaving as soon as Sam arrived anyway, so what was the point of wearing it? Despite being in the comfort of my own clothes, I still felt cold and empty. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that left me feeling oddly alone.
Booth was supposed to be arriving soon – or at least, I assumed he would be. He wasn't the fastest in the pack, that much was certain, but he was steady and could travel for far longer than any other. I wished I could have called him, although I doubted he had a phone on him, and mine had been crushed in the crash.
I wondered if I should just leave now – I didn't want to be in that damn hospital any more than I needed to be. It was a suffocating feeling, being trapped in these sterile walls, drenched in hopelessness and worry.
I stood, gripping the edge of the bed, and rolled my shoulders. Every part of my body felt stiff, and at this point, I wasn't sure if it was from stress or the crash. It felt as if I was on autopilot as I made my way down the corridor, fingertips brushing against the now-familiar smooth white walls. Despite the mere hours I had been awake since my arrival, it had become second nature to make my way down the hallway and stop in front of the fourth door.
I missed Dean. I missed his clever quips, his playful demeanor, and that cocky smirk he always wore. And yet, I still had every intention of backing away from hunting, whether he woke up or not. I loved the thrill and the excitement, the idea of making a difference for one person, a family, or even a city. But it was beginning to feel as though every time we took a step in the right direction, we took two steps back. No number of cocky smirks could change that.
The cool metal of the handle felt like it was burning my palm, pressing into my skin as I gently pushed the door open. I was surprised to find that I wasn't alone in the room, aside from Dean of course.
John sat in a chair beside Dean, relaxing in the stiff chair, his eyes focused on the open window that allowed weak morning rays to cascade into the room. I didn't say anything – I wasn't sure what to say. This was the first time I had seen him in days, and I really had no intention of visiting him if at all possible.
My eyes flickered to Dean's near lifeless body. It hurt every time I saw him, intubated and unable to breathe on his own. He looked impeccably clean, potentially cleaner than I had ever seen him. It was rare that I would ever see him fresh out of the shower – more often than not, he was covered in dirt and grime from a monster hunt.
The strangest part of his immaculate clean form was the lack of an amulet around his neck. I had never given much thought to the chunky charm. I just associated it with Dean – it was a part of him, just as the car was, inseparable. To see him without it... it was difficult to describe. It just wasn't right.
"You look well," John spoke, and I jumped in surprise, meeting his surprisingly warm eyes with a startled gaze. He looked sincere, a warm, off sort of affection in his eyes. I nodded nervously and pulled my jacket tighter around me, using it as a sort of barrier.
"Yeah..." I said slowly, dropping my gaze to the linoleum beneath my boots. "Yeah, you do too." He did look much better – certainly livelier than the last time I had seen him. In the Impala, before the crash, If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed he was dead. He had been pale and bleeding badly, and frankly, I had worried he wasn't going to make it to the hospital.
"You know," he began again, his eyes shifting back to his battered son, a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around his head to make his hair stick up at weird angles. Had he been away, I may have teased him about it. "I saw what you did for him. Shielding him from that truck."
I stiffened, every muscle in my body going rigid. "I wouldn't call it shielding..." I replied softly, raising a shaking hand sheepishly to the back of my neck. "I just... didn't want him to get hurt..." My eyes flickered to Dean's comatose body and I frowned. "... More hurt."
John inhaled deeply and took one of Dean's limp hands in his own, eyes never leaving his son's face. "I wonder... without you looking out for him, I wonder if he would have made it here." His voice trailed off and he gazed at Dean, deep in thought.
"I would have done the same for Sam," I added. "They're family. They mean a lot to me."
"I know," John said, lifting his tired eyes to meet mine. At that moment he looked so much older than he had before. Tired, like everything had been stripped from him piece by piece until he was nothing more than a shell. At that moment, the walls came down and he was nothing more than a broken man, grieving over his injured son. "I know you would. I'm trying to thank you."
My eyes flew open, wide-eyed and startled by his statement. "Oh," I said, struggling to find a response. "I- um..."
"I said- did a lot of things I shouldn't have," he continued, gripping Dean's hands ever so slightly tighter. His heart rate increased, fluttering from his nervousness. "I shouldn't have- you're not..." he paused, also trying to come to terms with his thoughts. "I judge you too harshly. You're not... what I thought you were."
He glanced up, meeting my eyes with a tired, uncertain gaze. His words ricocheted in my mind for several long seconds before they finally sunk in and I understood their meaning. A reassuring grin split across my face, my own heart hammering in my chest. John Winchester was apologizing.
"It's OK, John," I said softly, releasing my arms from the tight, uncomfortable grip I held them in. "Everyone makes mistakes." I had made plenty of mistakes in my lifetime, some of which I wish I had been forgiven. Realistically, I think I had been forgiven – I just never forgave myself. Perhaps this was John's way of beginning to forgive himself too.
His eyes returned to Dean's form and he loosened his grip on his son's hand. He really did care for his sons, both of them, although sometimes he had funny ways of showing it. I could see where he was coming from – he wanted to make sure his boys were prepared because he hadn't been. Prepared to protect themselves, each other, and their loved ones. I knew John would give anything to see Dean make it out of this alright.
"I can see why my boys like you," he said softly, pulling his hand from Dean's. I lifted a brow. "In a way, you remind me of Mary. She was a hard ass and didn't take shit from anyone. But... she was the best friend I could have ever asked for." My heart thumped erratically in my chest, taking in his words.
I took a few steps towards the bed and sat on the edge, towards the end, and took in his hunched form. John was a good man, broken, but good. Maybe it wasn't too late for him.
"You raised some... incredible kids, you know that?" I offered. John chuckled and leaned back in his seat, smiling affectionately at Dean.
"No, they did that themselves. If I could change one thing, I'd change how I raised them... I would have been there for them. A better father." He smiled softly, a look of regret in his brown eyes.
"For what it's worth, John..." I began, clasping my hands in my lap. "I think you were still a good father."
"Yeah..." he sighed. "Maybe..." His eyes flickered up to meet mine, sincere and so very exhausted. I hoped he would take some time to rest before going after this demon again – he deserved a break. "I guess I'll leave you two alone..." he trailed off, standing from his seat. Before I could even think to protest, he was out the door, making his way down the halls back to his room.
I clamped my mouth shut, staring blankly out the doorway. With two quick blinks, I turned back to Dean, a lazy grin rising on my lips. "Guess it's just you and me now, huh?" I took one of his rough hands in mine, the only part of him that didn't seem soft in this state. It was amazing how peaceful he looked now – even when he slept in the motel rooms, he looked guarded, ready to attack at any moment. If it were any other situation, it may have brought a smile to my face.
A commotion from down the hall caught my attention and I straightened, my eyes leaving Dean for the first time in what felt like hours. Something wasn't right – someone was angry. I stood, dropping Dean's hand, and ducked my head into the hallway.
Someone was yelling. Screaming.
I jogged down the hallway, pausing to check in every door before skidding to a stop in front of one. Sam stood just inside the doorway, heart pounding in his chest and a snarl ripping from his throat.
"-That's exactly my point!" Sam shouted at his father, who stood beside his bed defensively. "Dean is dying, and you have a plan! You care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son!"
"Don't tell me how I feel!" John shouted back, taking a slow step towards Sam. "I-"
I shoved past Sam before John could speak, scowling and shaking with fury. Why couldn't things just stay peaceful? "What the hell is going on!?" I spat, standing between the two quarreling Winchesters, glaring back and forth at them.
Sam scoffed and gestured angrily towards a duffel bag on the bed beside John. "He gave me a list of things for Bobby to get earlier- turns out it's for summoning a demon," he snarled, lips drawn back in an angered grimace. "Because he cares more about revenge than he does about his own son!"
"I am doing this for Dean!" John shouted, picking up the bag and holding it up to display it before us. The items inside rattled and slipped to the bottom of the bag, dragging his arm down with them. Clearly, they were heavy.
"How? How is revenge going to help him!?" Sam roared, taking a step towards John until they were only a handful of inches apart. "You're not thinking about anybody but yourself and your selfish obsession!"
"Enough, both of you!" I screamed, lunging between them, and shoving them in opposite directions. John fell onto the bed, clutching at his ribs, and Sam cascaded to the floor before jumping to his feet. "I am so fed up with you two going at each other's throats!"
John glared between Sam and me, glaring furiously. "I thought this was your obsession too," he spat, tearing Sam apart with his gaze alone. "This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend!" Sam flinched at this and squared his shoulders. "You begged me to be part of this hunt. Now if you'd killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened."
I whipped to face him, ready to retaliate, but Sam beat me to it. "It was possessing you, dad! I would have killed you too!"
"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now-"
"Bullshit, John," I snarled, voice dripping with malice and venom. "Dean was hurt long before your stupid martyr act. If Sam had shot you, we would have had to bury you while Dean sat comatose a few rooms down!" I shouted, voice rising with each word. I was trembling with fury, every ounce of my being telling me to lay into John and give him a piece of my mind.
"You don't know that-" John began, but Sam cut him off yet again.
"Go to hell, dad," he spat. John's eyes snapped up to meet him with a fiery, reproachful gaze.
"I should have never taken you along in the first place," he said lowly, dangerously, eyes flickering between Sam and me. "I knew it was a mistake, I knew I was wrong-"
A ringing filled the air and suddenly a glass, formerly filled with water, was flying across the room. It hit the ground with a cacophonous crash, shattering against the floor. The three of us stared in disbelief for a moment before the ringing returned.
I straightened, eyes wide, and turned to face the doorway. "Something's wrong..." I whispered out, wracking my brain. It felt like a piece of me was crumbling, fading away and I couldn't pull it back. The realization hit me with so much intensity that I thought I was going to crumple to the floor. "Dean!"
I was sprinting down the hall before I could even think to explain myself, Sam following close behind. I counted the doors until I skidded to a stop in Dean's room, gripping the doorway in an attempt to pull me to a stop.
"Still no pulse!" a nurse exclaimed, readjusting the defibrillator. Amongst the gaggle of nurses and doctors, I saw Dean lying limp on the bed, the monitor beside him flat and beeping erratically. My hands flew to cover my face, tears welling up in my eyes.
"Let's go again, to 360," the doctor ordered, and the nurse nodded and began charging the cart. I gripped Sam's arm as he took a few steps into the room, nails digging into the thick material of his coat.
Don't die on me Dean, I thought, clutching tighter at Sam's arm until he winced, placing his hand over mine. The strange ringing returned, filling the air with an odd sort of electrical rhythm. The room chilled like all the life was being sucked from the very air. I shivered and slipped my hands from Sam's arm, staring in awe around the room. I was like nothing I had ever experienced.
Suddenly, the room filled with warmth and the pulse monitor began beeping regularly. The nurse sighed in relief. "We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm." I thought my heart was going to burst at her words and I doubled over, placing a hand over my stomach. I felt sick with worry and the room spun as the ringing died down.
I almost lost him.
Sam sighed and stepped into the hallway, breathing the fresh, untainted air. I couldn't blame him for needing a break – I felt like if I wasn't careful after seeing that, I would need the defibrillator. The hospital staff exited slowly, casting worried glances at my staggered form as they passed.
When the room emptied, I made my way slowly to the bed and sat on the edge, resuming my usual position. By now I had spent more of my time in this very position than I had in my own room – at least when I was awake. I took one of Dean's calloused hands in my own and placed it in my lap, running my thumb over his knuckles.
"Please don't ever do that again," I pleaded, wiping away the tears that were threatening to spill onto my cheeks. "Don't make me drag you back."
A chuckle from the doorway brought my attention away from Dean and the scent of saltwater crashed over me like a tidal wave. I sprung to my feet and turned to face the sound with wide, excited eyes.
In the doorway stood Booth, dust coating his clothes and skin, his silvering hair a tousled mess, and blue eyes full of warmth. He smiled warmly and held his arms open invitingly. I raced across the room and collided with him, wrapping my arms firmly around him. "About time you got here," I grumbled out teasingly, sounding more irritable than I felt.
"Sorry, hun," he mused, running a hand over my hair. "Got held up."
I popped my head up in worry, taking in his steely gaze. "By what?" I questioned, hoping some demon hadn't found my pack and attacked them when I wasn't there to protect them.
A wintery scent filtered down the hall, bringing with it images of tall pine trees and snow-covered peaks. "By me!" Calliope cheered as she came charging down the corridor and rammed into Booth and me, joining in on the embrace. "Thank God you're OK!" she exclaimed, practically wrenching me away from Booth in a bone-crushing hug. "Caeden was freaking out, saying something was wrong and you were hurt, then Sam called and said you win the hospital, and-"
"What do you mean Caeden was freaking out?" I demanded, pushing her away from me with my hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. She blinked twice, baffled by my question and the excitability dissipating. Truthfully, I wanted to know if Caeden had experienced the same things I had – had he seen that utter darkness, or seen the white wolf?
"H-He just said that you were hurt," she stuttered out and gripped my wrists tightly, worry filling her blue irises. "Said he could feel where you were hurt and that he knew something was wrong with you and wrong with your friends-" her eyes flickered to Dean's limp form, eyes flashing with concern.
Booth placed a hand on my shoulder, his gaze full of concern. "We all felt it, but Caeden especially. He could put it into words, whereas we... we all just knew something bad had happened. He... described it. Described what you were feeling, where you were hurting."
"It was terrifying," Calliope added and clamped her hands over my cheeks, turning my head back towards her. "But you are OK, right? Sam said they could discharge you soon."
"Yeah," I mumbled out through squished cheeks and pulled her hands from my face. "Yeah, I can be discharged now if I want. I've only been staying because..." I trailed off, eyes flickering to the open doorway.
"We figured," Booth chimed in, eyes slipping to Dean's comatose form. "I could feel your panic the moment you woke up, you know." Calliope's eyes widened in shock – clearly, he hadn't told her that, nor had she experienced it. "Felt a lot happening in the past few days," he continued and raised his worn hands to the back of his neck, lightly touching the base. "Right here. Like fire."
My jaw partially dropped, thoughts running rampant at the very notion that Booth was beginning to experience the same phenomenon as Caeden and I. I wondered if soon I'd be able to feel my connection to him. Would it feel like pure electricity, like Caeden did? Was he experiencing the burning sensation that matched the same feeling of my boiling blood, in moments of unchecked rage?
I had so many questions, and I had little idea as to who could begin to help me understand.
"Are you two having, like-" Calliope waved her hands around, as if she were trying to search for the proper words amidst her confusion, "-psychic connections or something? Why was I not invited?"
I blinked twice and then a smile split across my lips. "Next time I read Booth's mind, I'll be sure to invite," I teased. Calliope looked pleased by this and crossed her arms in triumph.
"Like hell, I'm letting either of you into my head," Booth grumbled and took a step back. He was never too fond of close contact with others, aside from maybe fighting. Frankly, I was surprised he let me hug him. "So, what exactly happened?"
I scoffed and folded my arms tightly over my chest, drawing my leather jacket closer. "Hunt gone bad. We were tracking the thing that killed Mary Winchester across the country – finally found something that could kill it too, but things went sideways."
"What is it...?" Calliope asked tentatively, clearly unsure as to if she really wanted to know the answer.
"Demon," I growled out, eyes locked on the linoleum tiles beneath my feet. "Bad one, too. It..." I shook my head and reached up to brush the loose strands out of my eyes. "... Listen, how about we head down to the cafeteria, and get something to eat? I, for one, am starving. I can fill you in while we eat."
The pair nodded nervously, casting nervous glances between them as they followed me down the brightly lit corridor towards the cafeteria.
---
"What's this about, Sam?" I called down the hallway, following the youngest Winchester who clutched a shopping bag in his hands like it was the last thing keeping him tethered to this life.
"Just come on!" he called over his shoulder and ducked into Dean's room. I rolled my eyes and jogged to catch up. I could have been with my pack, answering whatever questions they still had, but instead, I was following Sam blindly.
I paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before me. In Sam's hands was a Ouija board and he glanced around the room nervously, eyes skipping over Dean's body.
"What the hell, Sam?" I questioned, strolling up behind him. He jumped and clutched the board closer, afraid of it falling from his grip. "Are we back in high school or something?"
He chuckled nervously and sat on the floor at the end of the bed. "No, I just- something weird is going on. I think Dean is here if that makes sense." I quirked a brow and stood behind him, watching him unfold the board. Sam sighed in frustration. "Look, weird things have been happening – you must have noticed it too. Cold spots, objects flying around..." he trailed off, waiting for me to respond.
"Sounds like a ghost," I offered with a tired shrug. Sam pointed excitedly, glad I was beginning to understand.
"Exactly! But Dean's not dead, so I think he might be trapped in some sort of limbo," he said, finally feeling hope bloom in his chest. "And this, no matter how childish, might help us reach him."
"If it helps us get Dean back, I don't care how childish it is," I said and dropped to the floor beside Sam, folding my legs beneath me. "Let's give it a try."
Sam nodded and returned his attention to the board, placing his fingers on the triangular piece that was supposed to move across the board. With a shaky sigh, he spoke. "Dean, are you here?" His eyes skipped between the moveable piece and around the room like he expected Dean's apparition to appear at any moment.
I gasped as the piece began to move, sliding slowly towards 'yes'. "Holy shit..." I whispered, watching it come to a halt over the three-letter word. "It actually works."
Sam laughed, evidently relieved. "It's good to hear from you, man. It hasn't been the same without you, Dean." I grinned gleefully, placing my hand on his shoulder, and leaning closer to the board. Suddenly, the piece began moving again, spelling out a word at a slow pace that had agitation crawling beneath my skin.
"... Hunt?" I questioned, as the piece gradually made its way towards the 'T'. "Dean, are you hunting?" I inquired, feeling silly for talking to thin air. The pointer slid towards 'yes' and I leaned against the end of the bed with an irritated sigh. "Even in a coma, you can't take a day off," I grumbled, crossing my arms indignantly.
"Dean, what are you hunting? Is it in the hospital?" Sam asked. The piece didn't move, and he huffed before deciding on one question. "What is it?" The piece began to move again, sliding languidly across the board.
"Reap?" I asked, staring down at the board quizzically. "What does that mean?"
"Reaper, I think..." Sam answered, deep in thought, and continued his questioning. "Is it after you, Dean?" The pointer slid slowly towards 'yes' and came to a halt. I inhaled shakily - so that's what was keeping him away. "If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it..." Sam mused, lifting his fingers from the board.
I winced and glared at the board. I wished Dean would just wake up, that maybe he was just overreacting, and everything would be alright. I wanted him back, wanted him safe, but how the hell was I supposed to protect him from something I couldn't see?
I frowned and shifted on the floor, deep in thought. He had made it this far on his own - maybe he didn't need my protection. Frankly, I doubted he ever needed it, but that never stopped me.
Sam pulled himself to his feet, gripping the end of the bed as a sort of crutch. My eyes followed his movements with curiosity, wondering where he was going. His hazel eyes met mine and he extended a hand to me, which I happily took. "Dad'll know what to do," he said and pulled me to my feet.
I scowled and slipped my hand from his. How could John possibly help in this situation? What did he know about pulling someone from the clutches of death? Sam dropped my arm, jarring me back to reality, and made his way towards the door.
"You comin'?" he questioned, pausing in the doorway, his eyes roving my downcast face. I frowned and shook my head, hair previously tucked behind my ears coming loose. He paused for a moment and glanced warily around the room before ducking out without another word.
I sat on the edge of the bed, facing the doorway with my back to Dean's comatose body. I wondered if his... spirit was still in the room. Was he watching me? The warmth remained, an indicator that perhaps he was still here - I didn't feel alone, a feeling that I relished in.
"Booth and Calliope are here," I finally spoke into thin air, assuming that he had remained. I felt silly talking to nothing, but a piece of me knew that he was likely listening. "They're worried about you, you know..." I trailed off, thinking. "I'm worried about you, Dean. I'm terrified..."
I fell silent, not sure of what to say next. Terrified of what? Losing him? I was already going to lose him. I had made up my mind about leaving as soon as I knew he was safe - or, safe as he possibly could be, considering his profession. I needed everything to end, a break from the madness.
I had so many questions I needed answered, thoughts running through my head that I needed to be clarified. I had no idea where to even begin looking for answers, but I knew it wasn't here. No matter how much I wished it could be, the answers weren't with Dean.
I just needed to get away from it all. It felt like the stench of death had been following me for years, for nearly ten years now. Just when I thought I had escaped it, escaped myself, I was pulled back in. I felt like I couldn't save anyone - I understood not being able to save everyone, but this was something so much worse.
I couldn't even save Dean.
I had so much I wanted to say to him; perhaps now, when he couldn't argue and redirect, was the time. I opened my mouth to speak and quickly clamped my jaws shut, lost in thought.
The sound of Sam thundering back down the corridor drew my attention away from my thoughts and back towards the task at hand - bringing Dean back. Sam turned the corner and entered the room in long strides, his father's journal in hand.
"He's not in his room," he said without looking at me and plopped onto the cold floor beside the Ouija board.
"Then where is he?" I asked, twisting to face his back as he opened the book in his lap. "Was he discharged?"
"I don't know," Sam answered, rifling through the pages until he settled one, eyes roving over a page I couldn't quite see. "Look, he's probably just in the cafeteria or something, or maybe he went out for a breath of fresh air. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
I huffed and leaned over the end of the bed, the metal frame digging uncomfortably into my ribs. Sam's finger traced over the words on the page, reading the sloppily scrawled words in what I assumed was his father's handwriting. "So, what do we do now?"
"We wait," Sam replied, turning the page to a small clipping taken from an incredibly old book, depicting a shrouded figure with wings: Thanatos, the Greek god of death.
"Screw that," I scoffed and stood, readjusting my clothes. "I'm going to go find John." Sam hardly had time to protest before I was out the door and making my way down the hall. I wasn't going to wait for John to miraculously show up – I was so irritated by the brothers wanting to leave everything up to him, tired of Dean following his orders like they were the only thing that mattered. If John was going to be of any help to us, it wouldn't be on his terms. Not anymore.
I couldn't catch hold of his scent no matter how much I tried. I circled the hallways, traveling around the many floors and wards for any sign of him. After only twenty minutes, I was beginning to think he really had left the hospital. I hoped that wasn't the case – I didn't want to return empty-handed.
The scent of motor oil, mixed with smoke and the odd scent of propane that left a metallic taste in my mouth, hit my nose and I stumbled back, struggling not to gag at the putrid scent. I hadn't even realized I was nearing the boiler room until the smell was so overpowering that it knocked me over.
Familiar footsteps padded down the hallway, heavy work boots hitting cement. A door creaked open and out popped John, his boots hitting the linoleum. He walked with his head down towards me, hands buried in his pockets.
"John?" I called and the man jumped, wide brown eyes meeting mine. "What are you doing down here?"
"Y/N," he said, sounding almost relieved knowing that it was just me and not some hospital employee. He hung his head again and strode forward, moving quickly past me. I raced to catch up with him, matching his stride. "Did you follow me?"
"No, but I was looking for you," I answered, relieved that I had finally found him. A sliver of hope wormed its way into my mind – maybe he did know something that could help Dean. "Listen, Sama and I may have figured out a way to help Dean-"
"Dean's going to be fine," he assured, not a hint of uncertainty in his gravelly voice. I blinked once, twice, three times. He hadn't even hesitated. He sounded so confident like he knew something I didn't.
"How do you know?" I asked cautiously, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. John's eyes flickered to mine, holding a deadly air that told me I shouldn't question him. I glared right back, silencing his aggressive demeanor – I wasn't his sons.
"Don't worry about it," he ordered, hands clenching reflexively in his pockets. "Just know that he'll be fine."
I scowled and slowed my pace ever so slightly, dropping mere inches behind him. What the hell did that mean? My mind raced, pondering just what he had been doing down in that boiler room. My eyes widened a fraction, remembering the argument he had shared with Sam only hours earlier.
In a flash I gripped his arm and dragged him back towards me, stopping him in the middle of the hall with a deadly look in my eyes, gold swimming and swallowing their usual E/C. "John, what did you do?" I snarled, hoping my hunch was wrong. He stared back, gaze steely and not giving anything away. Finally, he wrenched his arm from mine and took a low step forward.
"Y/N, I need you to do something for me," John spoke clearly, tone low and serious. I narrowed my eyes and nodded slowly, wondering just what was getting out. "I need you to look out for him. Protect him with your life."
My eyes widened and my lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. "John, what-"
He held up a hand to silence me, his intense gaze never leaving mine. "Just promise me you will. Promise me you'll look out for him."
"Dean can protect himself," I countered, skin crawling. "They both can-"
"Not from this." John sighed and momentarily dropped his gaze. He lifted his head, fire dancing in his eyes. "I just need you to promise me, whatever happens, you'll have his back. Whatever happens, you'll be there for him, protect him if you have to."
"Of course, John," I answered, confused as to where all this was coming from. "Both of them- I'll look out for both of them..." I trailed off as he dropped his gaze, eyes glued to the floor. "John, did you- don't tell me you actually-?"
"Let's go," he said, cutting me off for the final time. This time, I didn't stop him as he turned and made his way down the hallway. I froze, knowing exactly what that answer meant. The meaning behind the conversation dawned on me, nearly flooring me. He was tying up loose ends. I sprinted to catch up, matching his hurried strides with my own.
The walk back was short, and it didn't take me long to realize we were headed for Dean's room. My heart raced with anticipation, my mind grasping at the possibilities. I couldn't get my hopes up – what if I was wrong about everything and Dean was right where I left him?
An odd sensation bubbled up in my chest, filling my body with a sense of warmth, as though everything was right and back as it should be. With each step, my pace increased until I was sprinting down the halls and up the wide staircases. I felt whole for the first time in days.
A sweet scent hit my nose as I rounded the corner and charged down the hallway, not caring about the ache in my lungs and muscles. I skidded to a stop in the doorway, gripping the edges to keep me from tumbling to the floor. My chest heaved and my vision went in and out until it finally settled.
"Dean," I whispered.
He was awake and the machines were gone. His green eyes were wide, dappled with confusion, but still as brilliantly green as I remembered. He was awake. A wide, relieved grin cracked my lips and I lunged forward, drawing the older Winchester into a hug before he could even fully process my presence.
"Hey sweetheart," he said softly, drawing me to sit beside him on the bed. I gripped him tighter than I felt I had ever held anything in my life, worried that if I released him even a nanometer he would disappear. "It's good to see you too."
I buried my face in the crook of his beck, holding back the flood of relieved tears that had been hiding just below the surface for two days now. His arms wrapped loosely around my waist, and I doubted I had ever felt something so comforting. He was back.
A knock from the door dragged me back to reality and I pulled away from him, resting my hands loosely on his shoulders. John stood in the doorway, looking as relieved as I felt, a content smile on his grizzled features.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, lips twitching with obvious nerves. Dean's grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly, his heart beating so hard I could hear it.
"Fine, I guess. I'm alive," he said cautiously, eyeing John quizzically. My eyes flickered to John's – Dean knew something was up.
"That's all that matters," he said softly and took a step into the room, leaning against the doorframe.
"Where have you been?" Sam demanded, shoulders tensing at the sight of his father. I winced and pulled my hands from Dean's shoulders, his own slipping from my waist.
"I had some things to take care of," John countered, folding his arms defensively over his chest.
"Specific," Sam spat sarcastically. "Did you go after the demon?"
I winced and twisted to face him, glaring at his angered form. "Sam, he didn't-"
"No," John spoke, his voice overlapping mine until I was drowned out. I fell silent and dropped my gaze, waiting for the spiteful comments to ensue. I knew what was coming, and I hated that it had to happen now. I jumped as Dean's calloused hand gripped mine, surprised to find him lacing his fingers with my own. I cast him a confused glance, only to find that his eyes were locked on John.
"Why don't I believe you?" Sam demanded. I winced, waiting for John's scathing comment, as per tradition in the Winchester family.
"Can we not fight?" John pled, and at this, I twisted to face him, wide-eyed and shocked. "You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I-I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?"
Sam fell silent, wed eyes never leaving John. He looked baffled, shocked by his father's statement, and confused all at once. "Dad... are you alright?"
No, I thought. He's not. If my suspicions were correct, then Sam would know that soon enough. There was no way the demon would give him ten years. He was lucky to have ten minutes. "Yeah," John began again. "Yeah, I'm just tired. Would you, uh, mind getting me a cup of caffeine?" he asked Sam.
Sam nodded slowly, still unnerved by his father's rather calm actions. "Yeah- yeah sure." With that he sidled around the bed and left the room, casting a confused glance over his shoulder at his father.
I met John's eyes, surprisingly warm and full of joy. Something darker lurked in his irises, something I understood. He nodded a movement that I clearly understood as my indication to leave. With one last gentle squeeze of Dean's hand, I stood and made my way to the door.
The minutes that followed were tense, the air hanging thick with a tension that neither brother understood. My heart hammered as I watched John leave Dean's room quietly, a look of resolve on his stoic, worn features.
I could practically feel his body hit the floor only moments later and shut my eyes tightly, holding back the tears that threatened to escape. I winced at the snapping feeling in my chest like a half-formed bond snapping and momentarily drawing the air from my lungs.
There was nothing I could do to stop it, and that's what hurt most.
6666 words (nice).
A tasty, brief John redemption arc. This chapter took forever to write, ugh. My week has been crazy busy, and it took me forever to find a rendition of this that I was happy with. I had to rewrite it like four times, and then writer's block hit like a freight train.
In other news, I bought an airplane ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
Edited 05/07/22.