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John watched the evidence of the Wendigo disappear with the dying flames from the pyre before walking back through the forest towards the Impala. He was hot, sweaty, tired, and filthy from this most recent hunt. The wendigo didn’t do his back any favors and he was sorely tempted to just crash in the car overnight before making his way to a motel. But the last thing he needed was some Pacific Northwest Forest Ranger locking him up in some small town holding cell for whatever reason they pinned on him. He knew he needed to get out of town, to not draw attention, to come and go through life as unnoticed as possible. Sometimes he preferred it that way. Other times it was so damn hard. But he stuck to his guns. Drove overnight as he fought to keep his eyes open, drove until he physically couldn’t anymore. Luckily at that point, he came across a motel to crash in so that he could get some shut eye. If that motel was right outside of Stanford, California, then so be it. And if he found himself sneaking into the financial aid office to pay for Sam’s meal plan for next semester anonymously and in cash tomorrow, then it was no one’s business other than his own. And it was his own damn business if he ended up falling asleep for thirteen hours. Of course, John was confused as hell when he woke up. He had gotten used to waking up and barely knowing what town he was in, let alone what room. But since Mary died, he never made it more than a few hours before waking up out of breath and scrambling to check on the boys. That was if he was sober and in his right mind. Only time he got a good night’s rest was when he was drunk off his ass or coming home from an exhausting hunt. This time it was definitely the latter. But hell, he couldn’t remember ever getting thirteen hours of sleep before. John doubted he got more than eight before Mary died. He sure as hell didn’t when Dean was a baby, colicky and often inconsolable, leaving John rocking him sometimes for hours so that Mary could get a little sleep until Dean needed to be fed again. Sam had been easier and Mary had tended to him more, due to John needing to pick up longer hours to afford a second kid. Damn, that sure as hell switched. The ADHD that had Dean bouncing off the walls in elementary school before he (mostly) grew out of the hyperactivity symptom had driven John nuts from time to time. The trail of girls and women Dean had in his wake from sixteen onwards sometimes caused some fuss, if his son started getting attached to the temporary girlfriends or vice versa. Dean wasn’t perfect. He was known to go against John’s rules, sneak out, do things with people he shouldn’t be so trusting with. John had sometimes blown up at Dean or embarrassed him by pulling out of clubs and bars when he was a teenager. If Sam ran off, John tended to be able to find his youngest at a library. So in that respect, Sam was easier. But despite that, he could always handle any rebellion or moody moments that Dean had better than Sam’s. Maybe it was because Sam was so against being a hunter and couldn’t connect with the reason why they did it. Couldn’t understand that John was desperate to prepare them and to keep them safe. Hell, maybe it was because he didn’t form as strong of a bond with Sam as he had with Dean, all because Sam had overall needed less nurturing and support than Dean did as a baby. Sam hadn’t needed the constant rock inspired lullabies or comfort or cuddling well into the night. John would put money on it that one of those daytime tv psychologists would say his troubles with Sam all started there. But John knew better. He had plenty of time to bond with both of his sons, show them the love they deserved to be shown, and had failed at that miserably more often than not. Sometimes he really wished there hadn’t been a fire. That if Mary had to be killed so horrifically, then he could have at least had more things left from the house before going on this fucked up journey. Dean’s stuffed bear, some of his art projects from preschool. Sam’s baby blanket his old friend’s wife had made as a gift. But damn, he’d give anything to look at some pictures right now. He had a handful they saved from the picture frames after the Fire Marshall had given the okay, but there had to have been at least ten albums destroyed. Pictures of him and Mary before they had kids, before they were even married, and at least a few albums filled with Dean as a baby and toddler. The back wall in the dining room that had a picture of him from his first birthday had been destroyed. Maybe if he had his head in the right place, he would have asked their neighbors who had a daughter Dean had play dates with from eight months onwards if they had any pictures of his oldest son. But that hadn’t been a priority at the time and he was out of Lawrence before he was calm enough to think of it. God damn it, he missed his boys. John ran a hand down his face and let out a groan. If sleeping so damn long and soundly made him so damn sad and nostalgic, he would never do it again. Pressing the bottoms of his palms against his eyes before ignoring the wetness that rubbed off on them, John stood up, grabbed his hygiene bag, and headed towards the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a long hot shower, something he had been too exhausted to do when he checked in this morning. At 11 pm, it was probably too late to request clean sheets. Luckily, John probably wasn’t going to sleep any time soon and there had been only doubles available anyway. He’d sleep in the other bed if he decided to try to get his schedule back on track. When he got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, he went and sat down on the other bed and checked his main phone on the nightstand. Looked like the damn thing had finally died after not getting charged for a week. It was his own damn fault for not replacing his broken charger sooner. He thought about calling him on the room phone, maybe to check in on Dean and see how he was doing, to just hear his voice since he lost the privilege of hearing Sam’s. But it was past midnight now. For all he knew, Dean could be asleep, on a hunt, with a girl, or just shooting the shit with Luke. If Dean did happen to be on his own and John called this late anyway, he might scare the boy half to death thinking it was some kind of emergency - especially if John was calling under a California area code. But Dean had been hunting with Luke for about a year and they seemed to stick together between hunts. Usually John was wary of other hunters, only trusting a select few. But Dean and Luke had met up with him on some bigger hunts a few times. John could tell Luke was skilled, as well as capable of protecting himself and having Dean’s back. He could tell that Luke and Dean genuinely liked each other too. And that was good. Dean had a tougher time making friends than Sam. Some might see his older son as aloof and cold, lord knew how many of Dean’s teachers claimed as such. But John knew his son better than they did. Those people didn’t know how sensitive his son was, how loving he could be under the tough exterior, how Dean would probably still cry if you sat him in front of Bambi, Dumbo, or The Lion King. John couldn’t help but snort at the thought of The Lion King. On a whim, he had taken Sam to see it in the theaters but Dean insisted on tagging along. While Sam had been upset about that lion’s death, Dean had tears streaming down his face as if his own father had croaked right in front of him, only to threaten to punch Sam when the younger boy put an arm around him. Sam had backed off, despite Dean being full of shit. Dean was far from heartless. He loved and protected the people in his life fiercely. His life just made him hesitant to let them inside his heart. John understood that all too well. So if Dean was making friends and filling just a tiny bit of the hole left from Sam, then John wasn’t going to interrupt more than Dean wanted him to. So even if John himself was lonely, he would force himself to wait to call Dean until morning. —————————Sometime around 4 am, John fell back asleep. This time around, he only slept five hours, which gave him the excuse to get a few things done. After he got dressed, he headed to a laundromat to wash some clothes, reading a paper that almost disappointingly had no suspicious leads while he waited. He went to buy a few TV meals and a six pack from the grocery store to keep in the room, as well as a large pack of water bottles to keep in the car. John flipped through his wallet and doubled checked to make sure his debit card was there. It was the only card he had in his name and he would never had gotten it if it weren’t for saving a bank manager in Nebraska close to ten years back. Sometimes the job payed small favors, even if it rarely actually paid. But he had ways to keep some funds in the account. Some stocks and bonds, hustling pool, playing poker. On the big purchases like hospital stays, weapon replacements, longer motel stretches, and the very occasional splurge on the boys, it was fake names and identities on credit cards. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to use the cards for Sam’s college expenses. He knew his youngest hated them, hated how it was a crime. So John had spent a while earning this money and it was a pretty significant amount, probably due to how money hungry colleges were these days. But he was gonna give them what they wanted, help his son and go to a few ATMs to gather enough cash for it, even if Sam would never know. “That scholarship only covers tuition, room, and board, right? Just…tell him it was taken care of for next semester if he asks.” The loss of funds might put him in a bind for a bit, might make him limit his food intake himself, but he let the boys ration food too many times when a hunt took longer than usual. He wasn’t going to force Sam to do it now that he was on his own. It never should have fucking happened to begin with. Dean should have never had to steal bread and peanut butter, even if the boy had gambled the money away that time. It was obviously low enough that Dean felt like he had to try to get more. John shouldn’t have let him go to that boys’ home just to teach him not to steal and so that John didn’t have to look him in the eye- He needed to call his son. He needed to head to AT&T, get a cord for his phone, and get back to the room to talk to him. And that was what he did. As soon as he got back to the room and put his stuff in the fridge and his clean clothes on the freshly made beds, John plugged in his phone, gave it a little time to charge enough to come on, and- Five Missed Calls, One New Voicemail Checking the call log, John’s stomach churned when he realized the calls were all from Dean. And they weren’t just spread out over the course of a day and a half. The calls all came the night of his hunt, within minutes of each other. 1 am, 1:03 am, 1:16 am, 1:24 am, and 2:05 am. Why would Dean call him like that unless it was serious? What if his son was hurt? What if something had happened to Luke? What if Dean was in the hospital or worse and it was Luke calling him? What if- John’s shaky fingers went through the options until he clicked on “Voicemail.” Quickly, John pressed the phone against his ear and listened to the message.
One new message at 2:05 am. New message:
“Hey...Hey, Dad. I, um...I really need someone to t-talk to right now. D-Don’t have anybody else. I know you are going through some stuff because of Sam and all and we haven't seen much of each other for a while...but I really need you. Uh, I'm not doing so well. I mean, I'm fine. But if you aren't too far a-away and could take some time to meet up with me, it would mean a lot. I'm staying at 5124 Rider Avenue in Linthicum Heights, Maryland. It’s a Motel 6...Dad, please. I can’t be alone, I can’t...D-Daddy....I need you... Can you please call me back? It doesn’t matter what time, just-”
End of message. To repeat this message, press 2. To delete this message, press 7. To save this message, press 9. For all other options-
John’s heart was hammering in his chest by the end of Dean’s broken message and before he could even think about what was going on, he was pounding out his son’s phone number. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. It didn’t sound like a hunt gone wrong or like his son was physically hurt. He sounded like he was drunk or maybe on something, but John had found his son in various states of intoxication in the past. Never once did it make his son cry for him or make the word “Daddy” come out of his mouth. Dean hadn’t called him that since he was eight, and that had only been when he was half asleep and made John exasperatingly carry him into a motel room from the car after a long drive. Dean had probably been six or so since he called John that regularly. But he’d give his son this: It got his attention. All of his focus was on Dean and what was going on with him right now. And his son wasn’t picking up the phone. “God damn it, Dean,” John muttered, redialing Dean’s number immediately, “Pick up, pick up, pick up.” It was on the fifth try - the one where John had been packing up his clothes and preparing to drive all the way to Maryland over the speed limit and in distress, the one where he planned on calling the cops to do a wellness check at the address Dean gave him - that Dean answered. “Dad?” “Dean,” John said urgently, letting out a breath of relief, “Son, I got your message. You sounded upset. Are you hurt? What’s going on?” “I…” Dean started, then let out a sigh, “I don’t know. I cannnt really talk ‘bout it righ now. Head’s fuzzy.” “What do you mean, your head’s fuzzy?” John frowned, “You hit it on something or are you already drunk at 1 o’clock in the afternoon?” “Guess the secon’,” Dean said, “Took some pills too. Valium. Xanax. Bought them off a guy who knew a guy. Or the guy the guy knew. Whatever.” A huge part of John wanted to scold him, fucking scream at Dean for buying pills off some dealer who was in the business of catering to addiction and not toward hunters who need it for treatment. But screaming at Dean won’t get any answers out of him, won’t tell him if his son had taken too many or get Dean to haul ass to the bathroom to stick his fingers down his throat or to a hospital if it was needed. If Dean was in this much of a crisis, then John needed to be the level headed one this time around. “Why did you do that?” John asked as calmly as he could. John heard a shuffle on the other end of the line, as if Dean were shrugging and forgetting John couldn’t see him. “Dean, why did you do tha-” “I just needed it to stop,” Dean croaked out, “It wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t sleep.” John bit his lip and forced himself to sit down on the bed, “What wouldn’t stop?” “My head. I’m tired of being so fucking sad and useless and stupid. I’m so fucking stupid, Dad. I’m a fuck up. I don’t know why you even called back.” “Dean…” John choked out, before letting out an involuntary gasp and wiping his eyes, “I called because I missed you. I was going to call even before I saw you called me. I will always call you back when I’m able to. Why are you talking like that? You’re scaring me, buddy.” “Just…” Dean started, sniffling a little, “Just forget it, okay? This...This isn’t your fault. Whatever happens isn’t your fault. I’ll let you go. I’m really sorry I freaked you out. I’m really sorry, Dad-” “Don’t you dare hang up that phone!” John exploded, his feigned calm demeanor dissolving, “That is an order, Dean. You called me and you wanted me with you. You said you needed me. So I’m packing as we speak. You’re in no condition to drive. I’m on the west coast right now. Had a case. It will take a couple days. I will call every four hours to check on you and you better answer each time. Turn the ringer up on your phone as high as it will go. Tomorrow, if you are sober and not hungover to all hell, then we’ll agree on a place to meet part way. And if you’re too sick or aren’t feeling up to driving, then expect me in less than three days. Do you understand?” Silence was not what John wanted to hear, far from it. John tried not to growl as he repeated himself, “Dean. Do you understand?” “...Yes, sir.” “Good,” John sighed, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere, “Don’t...Dean, whatever’s going on, we can get past it, alright? Whatever it is, it can be fixed in better ways than what you’re doing or might be thinking of now. Don’t do anything rash. I’m going to be with you soon. We’ll figure it out together.” John felt his heart crack as his son whimpered over the line. But Dean pulled himself together and cleared his throat, “Okay.” His son’s agreement did little to calm his nerves. Even after John was checked out of his room and on the road, his hands shook around the wheel. ——————————After a few calls to Dean, the boy quietly said he was on his way to meet him part way and they agreed on a diner in Angola Indiana. As exhausting as the drive had been so far, John was too worried and filled with caffeine to stop to rest for more than an hour or so on the side of the road. He would sleep after he was with his son and he knew he was safe. Until then, he was going to drive and he didn’t know if he trusted Dean to drive further than Angola right now. John got to the diner first, despite the distance on his end. Then again, the Impala was faster than Dean’s work in progress of a car and John certainly made sure he used any speeding he could to his advantage. Considering Dean had been strung out on pills and liquor a couple of days ago, it was probably for the best that his boy took his time. It didn’t make John any less patient though. He was on his fourth cup of coffee when his son walked in. Maybe it was the caffeine in his system or just the sight of his boy after not seeing him in person for a couple of months, but John was pretty sure what had him jumping to his feet so quickly was the sight of the bruises and the limp, the haunted look in his child’s eyes. “Dean?” John called out, and goddamn it if it didn’t sound choked and pitched to hell. Dean didn’t answer him, the kid could barely look him in the eye. All he did was walk over to the table to sit across from John slowly and carefully, barely holding back a wince as he did so. If Dean had just been hurt, from a hunt or a bar fight - whatever, the boy would have told him. Dean would have shrugged any of John’s concern or annoyance with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, a ‘Yeah, yeah. I know. I need to be careful. They got the jump on me this time, alright? I’ll do better next time.’ But there was none of that. Instead, Dean just grabbed a menu to bury his face into, before calling out from behind it, “You order yet or did you already eat?” John knew he had to stay calm. He couldn’t see much of Dean’s face at the moment, but the energy coming off of him told John his kid was fucking spooked over something. So John let himself take a breath, then one more before answering the boy. He needed to approach this the right way. To not go off and demand Dean tell him what happened. To not start off on the slew of questions John needed answered. “Nah, just coffee,” John answered quietly, picking out a menu for himself, “You...You get whatever you want, kid. A meal to bring back to the room too. It’s on me. You’re looking too thin.” He had enough money to do that. This place was cheap and if he could scrounge up the funds for Sam’s meal plan, then he could make sure Dean was fed, because apparently Dean wasn’t doing a great job of that himself. If John hadn’t had a reason to be worried before, he sure as hell did now. That was the one thing he never had to worry about, getting Dean to eat. Jesus, he and Mary called him their little piglet. It had been something Dean never grew out of. “I’m not…” Dean started, before trailing off, “I’m not all that hungry. Maybe I’ll just take a couple of your fries or somethin’-” “Dean,” John interrupted, shaking his head, “Order some food. Put your old man’s mind at ease just a little. You’re scaring me, kid. You really are.” And John didn’t know what he was expecting. A simple nod of the head, maybe. A “Yes, sir.” But despite Dean’s emotional state on the phone when he had gotten a hold of him, John definitely hadn’t expected his son’s eyes to fill with tears or for him to cover his face after one escapes, not in a public place like this. “Dean? What in the hell is going on with you?” John asked, leaning over the table and lifting his hand only to keep it hovering, “Sweetheart?” And damn, maybe John was feeling emotional too. Because as long as it had been since Dean called him Daddy, it had been even longer since John had used that token of affection. It didn’t seem to help Dean much though. If anything, it choked him up more and made Dean let out a heartbreaking, strangled sound from beneath his hands, as if he was trying so hard to keep something major in and it was just starting to leak through. He was about to go around the table, sit right next to Dean and put his arms around him in order to shield him from the world and try to hold him together. Even started to slide out of the booth to do it too. But then Dean stopped, his wet face almost blank and the reddish hue to the whites of his eyes, and tried to smile. “Sorry about th-that,” Dean said, his breath hitching just slightly, “I don’t know why I did that.” John didn’t know why Dean did that either. But it definitely didn’t make him feel more relaxed. And it sure as hell didn’t give him an epiphany on what to say to make this all better. He knew if Dean did start talking, tell him everything that was going on to make him feel so lost, tired, broken, and down on himself, then John would have to come up with some kind of words. While he may have had a few fluke moments throughout his life where he had known what to say, it was a rarity. Words were never John’s strength, not after Mary. Probably not before either, if he was being honest with himself. “You two boys know what you want?” John turned his head to look up at the waitress. She was older, probably mid 60s or so, red hair streaked with white, tons of eye makeup, on the plump side. A kind face, one that he couldn’t get properly frustrated with for interrupting his thought process or conversation with Dean. Deep down, he was probably relieved she did. He and Dean probably wouldn’t get much talking done here anyway. “I’ll have…” John started, but trailed off when he looked at his son’s face, his eyes still wet and red and he suddenly realized he couldn’t make his kid sit here and hold whatever was hurting him in, “Actually, we’ll get our meals to go, if that’s alright. You know of anything you might want for lunch and dinner, son?” A shake of the head, a shrug. It didn’t matter. Dean wasn’t all that picky and John knew the foods he tended to gravitate towards anyway. “A bacon cheeseburger and a BLT, both with fries,” John said looking down at the menu, “And we’ll also get the pork chops, keep the salad and mashed potatoes as the sides, then the salmon with rice and green beans. And two large sprites, no ice. All of it to go.” “Got it,” the waitress said, jotting down the order, “It should be out in 15 to 20 minutes.” John sat there quietly as she walked off, digging in his wallet to find her a few bucks he could spare for a tip. He had enough, a few twenties he had left over from taking money out. They’d be alright. The room was cheap, only 35 bucks a night. He could go shoot some pool tonight or tomorrow if they ended up staying a little while or just use one of the cards. It didn’t matter. “Sprite?” Dean murmured, looking down at the table, “I’ve never seen you drink that. I don’t think I’ve had it since I was a kid.” “Ah, well,” John shrugged, trying to give Dean a smile, “Figured neither of us needed the caffeine. It’s all I’ve been drinking the last couple of days and you look like you need to get some shut eye.” “Not eating that salad either,” Dean continued quietly and John let out a snort. “You can eat something green,” John replied, shaking his head, “Just asking you to eat a vegetable, kid. Should have never stopped hounding you about it. It’ll do you some good. I’m not asking you to become Sammy or anything.” The name of his youngest son left a sour taste in his mouth, but the look of raw devastation on his son’s face upset him more. It had been over a year and Dean still missed Sam so damn terribly. Once John somewhat got over his own hurt, bitterness, and debilitating fear over Sam leaving for college, especially on the terms he had, he understood why Sam cut him off. Sam didn’t know what John knew, didn’t know the risks. And John couldn’t tell him. Whether it was because he hated the idea of Sam hearing something so upsetting or because it would somehow set off a chain of events that would lead to some type of self-fulfilling prophecy, John didn’t know. But what he did know what that Sam was good. He deserved to live the life he wanted. John just didn’t see how it was going to happen long term with the things he was starting to find out. But the one thing he still had problems with was the fact that Sam cut Dean off too, shattering his oldest son’s heart in the process. As much as John had probably deserved the silence, Dean hadn’t. It just about broke his boy to not get a call or an answer from Sam. But John wasn’t better than his youngest. Instead of being there for Dean, telling him they would both be alright, John had taken off for a month, only checking in and talking to Dean briefly during that time, and held Dean away at arm’s length after that, insisting that the boy go and explore some - meet new people and live life a little. John even tried to find Dean hunts in bigger cities so there would be more to do. That’s where Dean had met Luke, a big city. Chicago. So it worked out better since Dean had made a friend, but John didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it had been to give Dean space. Not suffocate him like Sam felt John had. Maybe it was because he was terrified Dean would wise up and take off too and it was just a way to prepare himself for the worst. But as he studied his son across the table and saw the dark circles under his eyes, the swollen cheek and split lip and god knows what other injuries his boy was hiding, he figured the worst he had been imagining wasn’t quite as bad as this. John pushed away the intrusive thoughts, opting to give Dean an empathetic and apologetic look, patting the boy’s hand briefly. Dean didn’t have anything to say. He just looked out the window and stared out at the parking lot. John really wished their food would come. So he could get his boy back to the room and some real words out of him, no matter how upset it got either of them. --------------------------------------------After the food came and John paid the bill, he couldn’t help but put his hand on Dean’s back when he saw him struggling to stand up and walk out of the diner. “The motel is just right down the road and across the street,” John reminded him as he made sure Dean was situated in the driver’s seat, “It’s called Redwood Motel. I’ll meet you in the parking lot, okay?” “Yeah,” Dean mumbled, not even looking at John, “See you there in a couple minutes.” Due to John being parked on the other side of the diner parking lot, Dean arrived at the motel first, waiting until he could follow John to the spots closer to the room. John grabbed the two bags of food from the passenger seat while Dean had the sodas, along with his duffle bag. It gave John a free hand to dig out the key card once they got to the door. He sat the food on the desk near the television and the sight of the bed called out to him. But he couldn’t sleep now. Hell, he wasn’t going to try to eat until he knew what Dean would do first. And John was only going to accept three things: eat, sleep, or talk about what the hell happened. But Dean wasn’t going near the food and he had put the drinks in the mini fridge already. All he was doing was sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the damn wall. John let out a sigh, leaning back against the desk, before biting the bullet and going over to sit next to him. Dean wasn’t himself. He was far from it. It was throwing John off to see him like this. And the closer he studied his son, the more intense the worry became. Part of him didn’t want to know what happened. That part just wanted to hope for the best and wait for Dean to go back to normal. But with the way Dean sounded on the phone - the crying, the drugs, and the tone of finality - it wouldn’t just be a risky move to do that, it would be a stupid one. Dangerous for his son, for John’s own sanity if the worst possible scenario happened. No. He needed to get Dean to open up this time around, even if it broke John’s heart. “I need you to talk to me about what happened to you. About what’s going through your head,” John said, running a hand down his face wearily, “I meant what I said, Dean. I might not be a man who scares all that easily, but when it comes to you and Sam all bets are off. You...You can talk to me, kid. Don’t worry about whatever you have to say hurting me or upsetting me.” Dean stayed quiet for several seconds. For a moment, John wondered if Dean’s silence was his way of declining the offer of a conversation. If that was the case, he wouldn’t know where to go from there. He would be to afraid to sleep, afraid of what Dean might do while he was passed out. He could eat his lunch, but he didn’t see himself developing much of an appetite at the moment. Maybe Dean would get tired and fall asleep, which would give John time to gather his thoughts, figure out how to approach this, and- “You’ll hate me.” The words were quiet, barely above a whisper, but they felt deafening to John’s ears. He found himself shaking his head before he could deny it, maybe out of shock over what Dean just said. But he can’t be blamed for that. What Dean said was stupid, poorly conceived, a lie. And John wanted to tell him as much. “You think I could hate you over anything you did?” John asked, his voice raspy, “Dean, you’re all I got left. You could probably go on a damn killing spree and I would help you burn the bodies. I might...I might get angry with you sometimes. Disappointed. But I could never hate you. You have to know that. Dean? Please tell me you know that much.” Dean closed his eyes shut as his expression contorted. John didn’t hesitate wrapping his arms around Dean and pulling him in so that his son’s head was tucked beneath his chin, rubbing his back as he shushed him and rocked him back and forth, whispering what was probably damn nonsense to try to comfort him. Or maybe John was doing it to comfort himself, to make him feel less panicked - less like a failure of a parent. “Tell me what went wrong,” John said, clearing his throat and blinking the moisture out of his own eyes. “Ev-Everything,” Dean gasped out, “Everything’s wrong, Dad. I’m wrong.” “Break it down for me,” John said, “Start at the beginning. Tell me what I’ve missed.” Dean was shaking his head, letting out soft cries into John’s leather jacket, “I don’t know if I can say it. It’s so much, Dad. I’m so tired.” John rested his cheek on the top of Dean’s head and held him a little tighter, “You gotta try, son. I need to know. I know it can be hard to talk about the things that are eating at you. I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to-” “Luke was my boyfriend.” As soon as John’s words were cut off by that announcement, he had no idea how to respond. Out of anything he had imagined when it came to his boys, it had nothing to do with them being involved with a man. Not like that. Dean...Dean liked women. This didn’t make any sense. John didn’t know what to say, but was sure as hell not going to open his mouth and improvise. Even he was smart enough and sensitive enough to know that he would say something horrifically dumb and make Dean even more upset or clam up. “Dad? Please say something,” Dean sniffled miserably, tense in John’s hold. John let out a sigh and rubbed Dean’s back for a moment, before praying to Mary he wouldn’t derail this conversation and cause a devastating fallout. “I…” John started, struggling to figure out where to go with this, “Shit, Dean. I don’t know what to say. I thought you liked girls. I never had any suspicion you might be gay.” John felt Dean shake his head against him, his next words muffled against John’s chest, “I’m bisexual. I’ve...I’ve known that since I was 16.” John didn’t know what to say to that either. He didn’t know how he even felt about it. He definitely didn’t love the idea of his son being with men. He didn’t even understand why Dean would want to be with one. Men were rough around the edges and didn’t smell as nice as women. When Dean had a girl he was hanging around or propositioning, all John ever did was roll his eyes, tell him to be safe, and think of his horndog of a son with exasperating fondness. But the thought of a man propositioning Dean? He wanted to protect him, make sure the guy wasn’t some asshole who would push his son too hard. Hell, he didn’t even have to think of the scenario. He’s witnessed it. Men have been calling Dean pretty since before he turned eighteen. But Dean always declined their propositions, politely or aggressively depending on how they came off. Maybe that was why John was so confused, why he felt disgust and protectiveness over the thought of Dean saying yes to the men that had been too lewd with their offers when John wasn’t around. But he didn’t hate Dean. He didn’t love him any less. He meant what he said. “Does Sam know?” he had to ask. Whether he would be relieved that Dean had talked to someone about it before to get a little of whatever this is off his chest or hurt that Dean told his brother and not him, he didn’t know either. “No,” Dean answered, leaning forward to scrub at his face, “Right before spring break, I wanted to...I don’t know, I wanted to tell him. Things with me and Luke were serious and I was just keeping him a secret from you guys. I thought if I maybe told Sam and could go see him during his break week or something, it would be easier for me to maybe tell you. I called, but it went straight to voicemail. He never called me back. I didn’t know what you’d do though. I thought you might not want to talk to me anymore.” “Dean,” John said, his chest hurting at the thought, “I wouldn’t...I would never disown you. Shit, after my fight with Sam, I can see why you might be scared to tell me. I never meant to...I never meant to turn him away like that. It’s not what I wanted. I just...I wanted to keep him safe. But we butt heads so much. We bring out the worst in each other sometimes and I regretted what I said the day after I said it. If he ever talks to me again, I will welcome him back with open arms. But with you? Our relationship is different. We don’t fight, not like that. You’re my kid, probably the best friend I have in my life. Now, I don’t get it. This uh...this bisexual thing. I’m still confused because, from my perspective, it’s coming out of the blue. But you’re still my son. The confusion and any problems I have with it...It’s on me. I will work it out on my time. It’s not your problem. Don’t worry about that. I’m still your old man. I still love you. Whether you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, as long as they love you and treat you like the good man I know you are, then I’m okay with them. We’re...We’re good. Understand?” “Yeah,” Dean answered softly, but without any type of feeling. And at first John wondered why they weren’t hugging or laughing off the chick flick with tears in their eyes. Maybe it had been because Dean came out to him. Maybe that’s why John forgot that Dean had been beat on hard enough to split and bruise up his face and make him limp. And the thought of it being Luke who had hurt his boy, someone Dean must have loved enough to form a real relationship with, made John shake with rage. “Did Luke hurt you?” John grit out through his teeth, already prepared to give the guy a call so that they could meet up under false pretenses. His son gave him a bewildered look before his eyes widened. “No!” Dean exclaimed as he sat up straight, the most energetic John had seen him since this morning, “Dad, he would never do that. We broke up last month anyway. It didn’t end well, but he would never hurt me, Jesus. I mean, he broke up with me. So that fucking hurt. But I deserved it.” John shook his head, “You don’t deserve to get your heart broken, kid.” Dean let out a scoff, only to sniffle again and rub at his eyes, “You don’t know me very well then. I deserved it, Dad. I really did. I’m such a fuck up. I’m worthless and have nothing going for me. I’m a waste of space-” “Why the hell are you saying shit like that?” John asked, raising his voice, “Stop it, Dean! Just stop! I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself that way. It’s fucking killing me and it’s not true. So why do you keep saying it?” “Because it is true,” Dean muttered, looking down at the floor, “If you knew everything I’ve done, everything that happened in the last month - fuck, in the last five years - you would think the same exact thing. You wouldn’t even want me in the same room as you. You’d be so fucking disgusted.” “How do you know that if you won’t tell me?” John countered, feeling as frustrated as ever, “You keep predicting what I’ll do if I find whatever it is out, but you don’t know. You’re just assuming the worst of me. And I get why, I do. But didn’t I prove you wrong just a few minutes ago?” “This is different-” John held up a hand to silence him, “I seriously doubt it’s anything to make me think you’re a goddamn waste of space.” Dean shook his head, “You’re wrong.” John wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and knock over the ugly vase on the nightstand. He had never felt so fucking frustrated with Dean in his entire life. Colic had been nothing compared to this beating around the bush. “Dean…” John started, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the stress and caffeine induced headache, “Dean, when I look at you, I sometimes see a man. A man who went through way too much shit yet can still be positive and nurturing and is so much fun to be around. I love that guy more than anything and I’m glad that maybe, just maybe, I played a small part in making him who he is.” Dean stayed silent as John let out a shuddering exhale, “But a lot of the time? I look at you and I see my baby. The baby I rocked to sleep for hours on end, the one who wanted held in such a specific way, just so he could rest his head at the crook of my neck. The one who taught me what love really was, because as much as I adored Mary...shit, when I first saw you? I thought my heart was going to burst open. So no, Dean. Nothing you’ve done is going to make me think you’re any of those things. You and your brother are the best people I know.” Dean was crying again. Soft, broken, whispered sobs into his hands that made John feel like he was being stabbed in the chest. Even if Dean didn’t have a scratch on him, this alone would let John know there was something major going on with his kid. As sensitive as Dean could be, he didn’t break like this. He used to cry easily over a movie, but how long did that last before he started denying he ever cried over it at all? A few silent tears here and there after a nightmare, maybe when he was feeling overwhelmed. But he didn’t cry multiple times a day, weeping on and off throughout the afternoon. He didn’t think so horribly of himself. He didn’t take pills and drink in order to numb the pain. John just wanted Dean to feel better. To fucking talk to him- “Sam wouldn’t come out to you because he thought it might ease your way into the idea that your son’s completely fucked up or hope that you threw him to the curb for not being straight before he’d have to tell you anything else. He wouldn’t go behind his partner’s back, start tricking again, and justify it because their sister has cancer and needed hospital bills paid. Sam wouldn’t have gotten broken up with because his partner found out and they were too upset about it to look him in the eye. He wouldn’t have kept doing it either. Sam wouldn’t have wh-whored himself out to guys to make some easy extra cash in the first place, let alone do it for years. And he...h-he wouldn’t have let a group of th-them get the jump on him, tie him to a bed for a weekend, and keep him just drugged up enough so he c-couldn’t fight back. He wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital to get stitches in his damn r-rectum. Sam’s a lot better than me, Dad. No wonder he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. He’s so much better than m-me…” Static. Out of this whole situation, Dean calling him up upset, three days on the road with nothing but his worry over his son to keep him company, Dean coming out to him, he has had some sort of thought process, some way to keep himself slightly calm by thinking ‘It could be worse.’ But short of one of his kids being dead, nothing was worse than this. And he couldn’t think. Couldn’t fucking breathe due to the pain and anger he couldn’t feel just quite yet. Even when Dean broke into devastating and hysterical full-fledged sobbing, it was almost background noise. “I need...I need to get some air,” John muttered, standing up quickly to walk towards the door. “You hate me,” Dean choked out through heavy gasps, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorr-” “I don’t hate you, Dean!” John turned around, hissing out his answer with rage, “I’m furious with you! I’m furious over how dumb you’ve been! And I want to kill the men who hurt you! I want to kill them slowly until they wish they were dead.” John turned around, grabbed the desk lamp, and threw it against the wall. Dean jumped at the sound, wincing as if he was preparing for John to do it to him next. Did those monsters break his son that much? Did John make him think… “I just need some time,” John said, trying to take steady breaths, “Just give me that, Dean. I don’t want to continue this conversation until I’ve had some time to cool down.” Dean nodded, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve before meeting John’s eyes, “And then you’ll come back?” John’s heart ached at the words, almost made him want to go back over to his son right then and there. Almost. “And then I’ll come back,” John confirmed, “I’ll just be an hour or so. Not long. I wouldn’t leave you for long when you’re like this. I just need to clear my head and calm down.” -----------------------------------------The Impala’s steering wheel was only a good punching bag for so long. When he decided he needed to break some skin, he went to the ice machine and punched the wall beside it, kept doing it until his knuckles bled freely. He deserved it. As angry as he was at Dean, his son probably would have never learned that prostitution was an option if it weren’t for John. The ones they mainly ran into had been women, but they had stayed in enough shady hotels and passed through enough grimy truck stops. Truckers with beer guts and skeezy old men had hit on Dean right in front of John, even when Dean had obviously been a kid. John even threw a few punches when he saw a few trying to corner Dean a handful of years back. When had his son stopped seeing those people as people to fear and started seeing them as a potential cash source? How often had Dean used that money to fill up the Impala or grab a bite for the three of them? How often had he gotten John a birthday present with money he made sucking dick or worse? He felt fucking sick. He was going to be sick. This was his fault. Dean wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for him being such a sorry excuse for a father. If he weren’t a sorry excuse for a father, then John would have seen some signs, would have put a stop to it before it came to this. He wished Dean told him he flew off to the Netherlands to marry Luke or something. That was the only place gay marriage was legal, right? The Netherlands? Yeah, John would have preferred that over this. He would have been shocked into silence for days, probably would have thought Dean was playing a joke on him at first. But he would have dealt with it eventually. He didn’t think he could ever get over the fact that his son felt he had to earn money the way that he had. And he definitely couldn’t deal with his son getting raped… John squeezed his eyes shut and let out a wheeze. He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. He hadn’t had one since after Mary died. He had just seen his first monster the night before, Sam was sick and wouldn’t stop crying, and Dean hadn’t said a word for months.
“Will you please talk to me? Please?”
And wasn’t that ironic? Dean’s silence had contributed to the last one and him telling John every fucked up thing that he never wanted to hear was causing this one. The thing was, he knew he wasn’t the one who should be reacting like this. He knew that he should be in that room, holding and comforting his son. He wondered if those assholes bothered using protection and if Dean could have been infected with something. The thought that his son could get sick because he was tied down and forced to go along with whatever these men wanted made him want to fucking weep. John took a few breaths to calm himself down. The one piece of good news was that Dean did get treated at a hospital. He got stitches. That thought made John punch the wall a few times more, but at least his son didn’t let himself bleed out and recognized he needed medical attention. They would have been able to see that Dean had been raped. They would have done the necessary tests and bloodwork. He would make sure Dean called to check back in on any results or if he needed to go somewhere for a follow-up. And if the worst possible diagnosis occurred, John would lie, cheat, and steal if it meant getting Dean medication. He knew he was thinking too far ahead, that Dean might heal from this completely. But he couldn’t help but prepare for the unexpected or worst possible scenario now. If he had been prepared for this to come out of Dean, maybe he would have handled it a lot better. He was tempted to take a drive, to blow off steam. But going farther than just the other side of the building made him too nervous. With his lack of sleep, he probably shouldn’t be on the road anyway. But what was he supposed to do? John wasn’t sure quite what he was thinking when he pulled out his cell to call Sammy’s number. He didn’t know what he was expecting either. Usually it went straight to voicemail, so John supposed he was expecting that. But when the automated voice said the number had been disconnected? That hurt a lot worse. But he was never completely negligent. He had gotten a hold of Sam’s room phone a week after he stormed out for his freshman dorm room and did the same for his suite once sophomore year started. He never used either of them though, only thought about it almost every damn day. Sam would be preparing for finals now, with it being December. That could be why he didn’t pay his cell phone bill, maybe he was too focused and forgot. John knew the more likely answer though. Dean probably did too. But he needed to try. If not for his own relationship with Sam, then for Dean’s. John was tempted to hang up by the first ring but forced himself to stay on the line. But soon enough, on the third ring, his son picked up the phone. “Hello?” “Uh...hey, kiddo,” John rasped out shakily, “It’s...It’s good to hear your voice.” Sam didn’t say anything at first and John just listened to the sound of his breathing. But Sam snapped out of it, clearing his throat before he said, “Hey. How did you...How did you get this number?” John let out a huff, “Have my ways, kid. You know that. I know we left off on some bad terms, that you don’t really want to talk to me. I miss you, I do. But I’ve been trying to give you some space...I’ve been trying to respect your choices. And besides, you know me. I’ve been wanting to talk to you but I’m a stubborn son of a bitch-” “You are,” Sam interrupted with a short tone, “You really are, Dad. So why are you calling if it’s not for you?” John closed his eyes then turned around until his back was against the wall he had been punching minutes before, leaning his head back, “It’s Dean. Sammy, he’s in a bad place right now. I shouldn’t even have left him in the room by himself but I couldn’t take it anymore-” “What are you talking about?” Sam asked, practically shouting, “What’s wrong with Dean? Did he get hurt hunting? What hospital are you guys at?-” “We’re not at the hospital,” John stopped him, effectively stopping Sam’s litany of questions, “We’re in a motel in Indiana. He’s not injured, not...not severely. He’s just...It’s mostly the stuff going on in his head. He’s had a real bad month. We’ve been hunting separately for a good while-” “You’re letting him hunt alone?” “He had a partner,” John answered, “Met him a few times. Seemed like a good guy. Dean, uh...Dean really liked him. I thought they were friends but I guess they had been together about a year. He just told me that. I’m probably not supposed to tell you. If he ever tells you, I guess maybe pretend you are surprised or somethin’.” “Um…” Sam started, seeming almost as confused as John had been, “Okay. That...You were supportive, right? Dad, I swear to god. If Dean came out as bi or gay or whatever and you said something stupid or were a dick about it, the next time I see you-” “I did alright, so you can quit it with that shit,” John snapped, “I can’t say that I understand it and it didn’t surprise me a little, but he’s still my son. I told him I still loved him and I just wanted him to be happy and all that. What kind of person do you think I am?” “Okay,” Sam answered defensively, “I’m sorry, okay? You said he wasn’t doing well and then you told me that. I’m guessing it’s not about the...bi thing? Did he specify?” “He said bi,” John shrugged, not really caring about that at this point, “That wasn’t the issue, at least for the most part. He and Luke broke up. He seems awfully upset about that, but that’s not it either.” “Then what?” John rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, then sniffled. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say again. He was starting to hate that. “Dad?” Sam asked softly, suddenly sounding small and scared and it made John want to protect him too, but his track record proved that he couldn’t always do that. “Your brother was raped, Sam,” he said gruffly, “A month after Luke broke up with him. Not even a week ago, by the sound of it. He...he started doing some things that he shouldn’t have been doing. Sounds like he fell in with some bad people, maybe. I don’t know the whole story. But...But I guess a group of guys beat him, tied him up for a couple of days, drugged him when he tried to fight back-” It wasn’t really the full truth. Even though John knew he hadn’t gotten the whole story yet - and wasn’t sure he even wanted to get it - he felt the need to protect Sammy from some of the harsh reality, protect the last shred of Dean’s privacy, protect any illusions that Sam may have had regarding John’s ability to be a father. Although let’s face it. If anyone knew and could admit what a shitty father John was, it was Sam. “...What?” Sam choked out, “Dad...Dad, please tell me you are making some sort of fucked up joke. Please tell me that’s not true.” “I wouldn’t joke about anything like that, especially when it comes to either of you boys,” John answered softly. “Shit,” Sam gasped out, “Fuck, Dad. I want to fucking kill them. Make them feel sorry they ever laid a hand on my brother.” “I know the feeling,” John said, biting his lip, “Look, I can’t talk long. Not with him the way he is. I just wanted to keep you updated on what’s going on with him. He’s not like himself. He thinks he’s the damn scum of the Earth despite me trying to convince him otherwise. I’m afraid he might...maybe you can call him tomorrow. He misses you so much, Sammy. He thinks you never want to see or talk to him again and that he’s not good enough for you-” “I’m sorry, Dad,” Sam moaned, his breath hitching, “I never wanted him to feel like that. I was so angry-” “I know you were,” John said, “And you had reason to be angry with me. I can get why you were upset with Dean for a little while too. But he really needs a friend right now, kid. More than just me. Just...Just give him a call tomorrow. Talk to him for a while.” “Why can’t I talk to him now?” Sam asked, his voice sounding muffled. “He needs to eat. Get some sleep,” John told him, slowly making his way to the other side of the building, “I doubt he’s eaten or slept much in days. And I need to see if the hospital gave him any medications to prevent STDs, see if they gave him anything else to help with the pain and any swelling from the stitches. Make sure he has everything he needs and is doing what he’s supposed to do.” “Why did he need stitches?” “Sam…” John swallowed, trying to not sound as wrecked as he felt, “You don’t want to know. That should tell you enough.” Of course Sam was smart, figured what John meant out immediately. He really hated when either of his boys cried. But he didn’t have much left in him to comfort Sam. Whatever he could scrounge up, he was going to need to save for Dean. But he stayed on the line with Sam, gave him a minute to pull himself together. He could do that much. “I’ll call him tomorrow,” Sam confirmed, his voice hoarse, “Call him first thing and talk to him about whatever he wants to talk about.” “He...I think that might cheer him up a little, kid. It’s at least a start,” John answered, “He might...He might suspect something. That I told you. But I’ll handle it. You...You just call.” “And maybe I can come stay with you guys for Winter Break too? Classes are over in two weeks and I’ll have a month off,” Sam continued, almost scared yet hopeful, “So I can spend some time with him. And with you.” John nodded, not able to voice his opinion on that before letting out a shaky breath, “Yeah, son. That sounds nice. I think he would appreciate that a lot. And I would too.” Sam sniffled on the end of the line, sounding almost as destroyed as John felt, “I love you, Dad. I’m sorry for everything.” John swallowed, nodding his head once, “You too, Sammy. I’m sorry as well.”--------------------------------------------------Thankfully, Dean was just where he left him when John walked back through the door. Well, he had moved some. He was on the center of the bed curled into a ball. His hair was wet and he was in pajamas. The skin on his arms looked a little red, like the water had been too hot, but that bothered him less than the bruises circled around his wrists like thick bands. John couldn’t dwell on that though. Dean didn’t need John getting upset right now. “Scoot over. We’ll talk tomorrow,” John told him quietly, nudging his son to make Dean look up. Dean didn’t look like he understood at first, but then seemed to get it when John pulled the covers down and sat down next to Dean. Hesitantly and gingerly, Dean scooted up to the top of the bed to slip his legs beneath the covers, lying down slowly until his head hit the pillow. “I’ll put the TV on,” John said, still sitting up as he reached over to run his fingers through Dean’s hair with his left hand and controlled the remote with his right, “I think there’s supposed to be a Western marathon on AMC this week.” “There are always Western marathons on AMC,” Dean pointed out in a small voice. John snorted at Dean’s response, but continued his old tried and true method of getting the boy to relax enough for some shut eye, “Yeah, Dean. I suppose you’re right.” A moment of silence passed between them, nothing but the sound of John Wayne’s voice at low volume, the temperamental heater in the corner, and Dean trying to be subtle as he shuffled closer to him and curled into John’s side filling the room. “Dad?” “Yeah, Dean?” Dean looked up at him then, his eyes wide and innocent like when he was a kid, peering up at John like he was some type of hero, “Thanks for coming back.” And while John didn’t know what to say to that either, Dean seemed to accept his silence enough to let his guard down, lean into John’s touch, and fall asleep.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was the heat that woke John up from his sleep the second time around. Disoriented by the darkness of the room - the only light coming from the television and the partially ajar bathroom door - John looked at the clock and saw that it was only 1:30 am. Dean was still flush against his side, shallowly breathing out soft snores into John’s chest. John was glad that his son was able to get back to sleep. After Dean had told him what happened early in the afternoon, after his son had been so damn distraught, he had been worried that it might be tough for him to calm down enough to get some shut eye. Dean had gotten a few hours and had woken up around 7 pm, if you could call it that. John almost fell off the bed when Dean started panicking in his sleep, terror and pure, basic survival shining in his bleary eyes as he thrashed around. John never got Dean to truly snap out of it. It had been a damn huge risk to get back on the bed and hold onto his son in order to keep him still, to talk him down softly until Dean had gone from a caged animal to a broken down and exhausted kid who just wanted to be held so that he could fall back asleep again. John doubted his boy would remember any of that. The unfocused look in Dean’s eyes had reminded him too much of when Dean was four and would wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Although Dean never said anything during those times, going by his son’s demeanor those following mornings and the childhood psychology books he caved in and borrowed from the library back then, John always had his suspicions that Dean hadn’t been awake enough to have any memory of waking up or of the nightmare at all. John had kept himself awake for a while once Dean fell back asleep. He didn’t move or tend to his rumbling stomach begging him to get one of the meals from the fridge; he didn’t dare in fear he might wake Dean up again. Apparently the lingering exhaustion from the crosscountry drive won out against his hunger and he fell back asleep around 10 pm. With Dean being less than two months away from turning twenty-four, having his fully grown son wrapped around his side and clinging to his shirt hadn’t been the most comfortable of positions. John felt compelled to prop himself up to support Dean’s head and weight a little better and he had struggled for several minutes to get the blankets off his own body while still making sure Dean was covered. It had only been then that he could get comfortable enough to go back to sleep. Until now. At first, John thought maybe the heater had finally fully kicked on and made the room too warm. But the source of the heat wasn’t coming from across the room. It seemed to be radiating from Dean. And now that John was catching onto something being potentially wrong, he looked down only to see that Dean’s cheek seemed flushed. Watching him closely, John could see that his son was still asleep, yet starting to shiver. Frowning, John put a hand to Dean’s forehead and it confirmed his suspicions - fever. And going by how hot Dean felt, he knew he needed to get up and go get the thermometer and some Ibuprofen. As much as he didn’t want to wake up Dean, he knew he was going to have to anyway. Yet Dean barely stirred as John pushed him onto his back so that he could get up. All his son did was mumble breathlessly and pull the covers tighter around him. John quickly walked over to his bag on the desk and unzipped the front pocket. The first aid kit in the trunk had more medical supplies, but he tried to make sure he had a few basics with him in the room: gauze, over the counter meds for pain, fevers, colds, and sleep, bandages, and a thermometer. “Dean,” John said, coming over to the bed to gently wake his son, “I want to take your temperature and get some Ibuprofen in you. You feel hot.” Dean’s eyes barely opened at John’s words, but between the slits of Dean’s eyelids, John could see they were bleary, bloodshot, and overly bright. Dean let out a small wheeze - which didn’t help John’s nerves at all - then barely lifted his head to wordlessly comply with the request. That didn’t help John’s nerves either. When the thermometer beeped and John took it out of Dean’s mouth, it was worse than what he had been expecting. 103℉ wasn’t a number to dismiss or wait out, although John might to see if the meds help Dean’s fever break any other time. But Dean had gone through hell and had a procedure done. John knew enough about stitches, wounds, and potential infections to know that the internal ones carried more of a risk for complications afterward and that a fever following an injury was never a good sign. “Where are your discharge papers?” John asked, trying to keep his voice calm as he went over to Dean’s bag, “I want to see what you’re supposed to be doing.” Dean seemed wary of answering, opting to just watch his dad from his spot on the bed. It frustrated John but as soon as he found them on his own, he could see why Dean might not want John to see them. John had been expecting maybe three sheets of paper, not a whole packet. And those aren’t including the sexual assault survivor resource packets. It seemed that Dean did prepare for further treatment by requesting for copies of his exams and report, probably expected he wouldn’t be stay in the same town for much longer - probably WANTED to leave if the assault had happened there. While John wanted to be able to breathe a sigh of relief over the fact they had all of the information and wouldn’t need to play phone tag with a doctor a few states over, the fact that the detailed descriptions of the injuries - the detailed descriptions of the rape - were right here in his hands made John want to go into a damn rage again. But he couldn’t read what happened to Dean right now, not with his son in the room with him and not when he was potentially ill. So he forced himself to skip over it. He would read it later, put himself through the agony once he got a few minutes to himself. Right now. he needed to focus on risk factors and complications. Once he got to that page, his mind wasn’t put at ease much. Fevers exceeding 101℉, chills, and lethargy made the list, which Dean seemed to have. John wasn’t sure how much pain his boy was in at the moment, nor did he know if there was swelling, something the sheet said to watch out for. But John figured Dean met the criteria for his concerns to be valid enough to take him to the ER, as much as he hated to do it to the kid. John went over to get a styrofoam cup from on top of the microwave, filled it with water, and brought it over to Dean, along with the two pills. “Dean, wake up for me,” John told him, setting the pills and water down on the bedside table before grabbing the other pillow to prop Dean’s head up more, “I want you to take these, then we need to get ready to head out, alright?” “Huhhnn?” Dean cracked an eye open as he took a breath in. John put his hand behind Dean’s head and lifted it enough before bringing the pills up to Dean’s mouth and giving his son the cup to chase them down with water. “You’re pretty fevered, kid,” John said, helping Dean up into a sitting position, “We need to head out to the ER. I’ll pack a few things in case they want you to stay. It’s not something we can just ignore, not with what happened.” The words made Dean a little more alert and he began shaking his head, “Dad, I’m alrigh’. It’s probably just the flu or somethin’. It’s December.” John held up his hands, “Hey, you might be right. But I’m not going to wait and see if that’s the case. There’s too much of a risk involved-” “Dad, I don’t want to go-” “Dean, there’s not another option here,” John interrupted softly, running a hand down his face, “I’m sorry, but you’re going.” Dean surprisingly didn’t put up too much of a fight following those words, but John could imagine the fever and lack of energy might be playing into that. Despite having valid reasons to take his son to get checked out in the middle of the night, he still felt guilty that he had to. John knew it was going to add a lot of stress on Dean, regardless of the outcome. He hated that he was going to put him through that, even if the visit did end up being warranted. But once he got Dean his feet, watching the boy breathe out through his teeth in pain the entire time? That guilt started to lessen a little more. However, it was the significant blood stain on the bed that gave John a reason to pretty much disregard any stress Dean might be feeling about going to get seen. “Dad?” Dean choked out once he saw the sheet, his fingernails digging into John’s arm before letting go to bury his face into his hands. Heart pounding at the site of the blood, John turned Dean around to see the back of his pajama pants soaked in a deep, wet red. “Alright,” John breathed out with a shudder, gently guiding Dean to the bathroom and sitting him down on the closed toilet seat, wincing as Dean reached up and bit a groan into his own fist upon impact, “I’ll get you another pair of pants and underwear from your bag, okay? We’ll get some gauze, take a towel to put underneath you. It’s no big deal, Dean. I’ll take care of it.” John quickly walked out of the bathroom and dug through Dean’s bag once more, pulling out a pair of navy blue boxer briefs and a pair of black sweatpants, hoping it was enough to make sure any new stains wouldn’t be noticable. When he brought them back and methodically helped Dean take his current clothes off, save for the t-shirt, a distant voice in his brain mentioned that he should probably wear gloves, that Dean wasn’t out of the woods yet and his clothes were soaked in fresh blood. John couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment, even with his scraped up knuckles in clear view. After lining Dean’s new underwear with gauze, he just held the soiled clothes from the front and put them in the bathtub, running cold water over them to let them soak. He’d make sure to put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door before he left so that some maid wouldn’t walk in and assume the worst. John packed the necessities for the both of them and a few changes of clothes, should Dean have to stay longer than a day. John hoped to God he wouldn’t have to, but he’d rather be prepared than leave him alone to fetch the things he should have brought in the first place. After he made sure they had everything, John hesitated before packing all of Dean’s papers. The doctor would need to know what his kid had gone through. And if John had some time to read the notes in order to understand the severity of what happened to Dean? He should probably do it sooner rather than later. Swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, John returned to the bathroom and stood next to Dean. Letting out a sigh and putting a hand on his shoulder, John looked down at him, “Let’s get going. The sooner we get it over with, the sooner you’ll be on the mend. It’ll be alright. Put your arm around my shoulder and I’ll help you stand up.” After John got his limping son to the car and they got on the road, he had to force himself to ignore the hitching breaths coming from the passenger seat. ---------------------------------------------Surgical Site Infection. Caught just hours before potentially forming into a full fledged, more problematic abscess. That had been one of the major issues. Torn stitches had been the other. That was what caused the bleeding. The doctor said it most likely occurred due to Dean not properly applying the ointment the last day or so, opting to be on the road instead and not soaking in the bath like had apparently been ordered to do several times a day. John was sure the violent nightmare hadn’t helped matters either. The way Dean thrashed, struggled, punched, and kicked was bound to have been the tipping point and probably caused some strain on the sutures. Dean initially didn’t want John to stay in the room for the exam. John had seen the moment his son began to recede within himself, pushing any caring gesture away and only answering in one word sentences and grunts. But when the doctor got the instruments out to perform the examination, Dean had panicked, said he hadn’t wanted it. Told the woman he wanted to leave, begged John to take him back to the motel. John couldn’t bring himself to tell his son to man up. He knew the signs of severe trauma when he saw it. All he could do was tell Dean it was something that needed to be done, that it wouldn’t take long, and that as soon as he got patched up and was in the clear, he could go back to the motel and rest. While Dean let the exam happen, he didn’t handle it very well. If John hadn’t been holding onto his arms, he’s sure Dean would have gotten up and swung at the woman. The way he had cursed at her in the beginning - nasty insults and threats - had surprised John. It didn’t really line up with the image of Dean he had watched grow up. Although he had preferred the nastiness over the terrified sobs that followed, ones John tried to calm with soft reassurances and close contact. By the time the exam was over, Dean was completely silent. That might have been the most unnerving reaction from him of all. The reactive and concerning behavior from Dean wasn’t ignored by Dr. Montgomery. John could tell she was a little bit on edge when she said that she would tell the anesthesiologist that general anesthesia would be more appropriate in this procedure, despite the fact it wouldn’t take all that long and it wasn’t the general norm. All Dean needed was to have the pus drained, some of his stitches redone, and to be admitted for a day to ensure that the infection didn’t persist and create more complications due to its location. John was on the fence about the anesthesia issue. On the one hand, Dean would be asleep for the whole thing and wouldn’t be further traumatized by the invasiveness of the procedure. On the other, localized anesthesia would have let John stay in the room. He wouldn’t have to stay in the waiting room and leave his son alone. That might end up being the hardest part - and watching Dean’s fit during the diagnostic exam or watching him fight unconsciousness as he silently stared at John with pleading eyes before they shut closed as he was rolled off had been hard to beat too. But sitting there, just waiting to be by his son’s side again, ended up being the absolute worst. Two hours later, when they retrieved John and let him know that Dean was being rolled up to Room 3609, he felt a little more at ease. Grabbing a chair just to watch Dean drift in and out of a dreamless sleep was much more preferable than waiting. For five hours, John believed that with all of his heart. And then he was reminded of the papers. The hospital still had the medical report with the list and nature of the injuries so John couldn’t read that. He doubted he could bring himself to read the full incident report either. But there was a summary page - something that had looked like an assessment almost, the one John had seen as he looked for the post-op care sheet. He knew he should wait for Dean to confide in him, or at least give him the okay to read it. But he was at such a damn loss right now. To be expected to care for Dean and help him heal from all of this was one thing, but to do it without knowing the facts of what had occurred? Where could he even begin? Holding the sheet in his hands, he went back and forth on his options as he closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. Deciding upon an answer, he looked down at the paper and began to read.
Incident Report And Exam Summary:
Client [23, Caucasian Male] reports he was attacked by several men and anally penetrated with their penises, fists, foreign objects, and sex toys without consent. Client reports that he was tied down by assailants on Friday evening, 11/28/02, at approximately 9 pm and given an unknown drug [bloodwork provided by Saint Agnes Hospital showed mild to moderate traces of Ketamine]. Client claims he was continuously drugged and raped until Monday morning, 12/01/02, at approximately 6 am. Client believes that bleeding began late Sunday evening when he felt a sharp pain upon being penetrated by assailant’s fist and he claims that this pain progressively got worse. Client believes there were five assailants, all male. [Client’s detailed description of attack in full report provided and compiled by Rape Crisis Advocacy Network for medical or psychiatric reference as well as legal purposes, should Client want to press charges on a later date.] Client was released voluntarily by assailants outside of his vehicle.
Client arrived at Saint Agnes Hospital Emergency Room in own vehicle at 12:05 am on 12/02/02 when the bleeding from his rectum hadn’t slowed down or stopped. RN Feldman called the Rape Crisis Advocacy Network to request an RCA soon after Client’s arrival. RCA Johnson responded on site and guided Client through paperwork, provided emotional support, and stayed with Client for the duration of his procedure and stay. Due to Client’s heightened emotional state and the nature of his various injuries [detailed on body check form filled out by Dr. Mathis, Client’s medical procedure records also attached] it was suggested to him that he call a family member to be present for suture procedure and rape kit exam. Client initially declined due immediate family not being in area, but then changed his mind after his initial medical exam and called his father and brother in designated cell phone area, both of whom he couldn’t get a hold of. Client returned with RCA Johnson and showed signs of anxiety when the suture procedure was discussed in detail and said he did not want stitches. Client was able to revisit the topic and change his mind when Dr. Mathis explained the risk factors involved without getting the procedure. Client wanted general anesthesia but due to Ketamine being in system, only local anesthesia could be provided. Client became escalated due to the personal nature of the procedure and had to be physically restrained until he calmed for the safety of all. Dr. Gonzalez was able to come and process with Client. Client expressed a desire to try calling his father again. Client was given permission to turn on his phone in order to call but Client’s father did not pick up. Client left message for father to tell him the motel he was staying at but did not report incident through message. While Client became escalated in prone position, he was able to get into supine position for procedure and complete it without physical escalation. RN Feldman aided Dr. Mathis in procedure and CNA Komar aided RCA Johnson in providing emotional support to Client during procedure and for the following rape kit exam.
Due to the severity of Client’s tearing and not having family in area to care for him post-operation, Client was officially admitted to Saint Agnes Hospital at 6 am. Client agreed to stay for one day but refused the recommended three to five day stay Dr. Mathis had requested. Client gave full details of account at 10:15 am on 12/02/02 to RCA Johnson and Dr. Gonzalez. Hospital called Law Enforcement, who came to see Client at 11 am 12/02/02 due to violent nature of attack. Client refused to press charges or file the incident report with Maryland State Police. State Police accepted Client’s right to refuse immediate legal action and informed him that his rape kit would be stored if Client decided to pursue legal action. RCA Johnson provided therapeutic resources and contact information for Client before his discharge and strongly recommended he seek out a therapist or a support group specializing in sexual assault. Client was also given appointment dates for further bloodwork and testing for STDs, along with routine examination dates for his sutures, from his doctors. Client claimed he would no longer be in the state and requested copies of the complete medical reports provided by Hospital and incident report provided by the Rape Crisis Advocacy Network so that they could be given to a doctor in his area. Client was discharged on 12/03/02 at noon.
This information summarizes the incident recalled by the Client to Rape Crisis Advocate Ryan Johnson. Attached pages provide full incident report. Medical information was included in this summary with Client’s consent and only refers to services provided and what client accepted and experienced in RCA Johnson’s presence. It is not to be substituted for Saint Agnes Hospital’s medical report. This comprehensive summary was written by RCA Johnson. Copy was delivered to client at Saint Agnes Hospital by RCA Johnson upon Client’s request on the morning of 12/03/02. Should Client decide to pursue legal action and want further assistance, contact information to the Rape Crisis Advocacy Network has been provided.
John let the tears fall as he finished reading, the ones he had been forcing himself to hold back, the ones that stemmed from the fear, horror, and pain as he watched his oldest son suffer from what had been done to him. He had known reading the basics of what had occurred wouldn’t make it better. He had known going in that he was setting himself up for pain. But John hadn’t prepared himself for the immense guilt to follow, a kind of guilt that John had never felt before and made the guilt from yesterday afternoon seem pale and run of the mill in comparison. Dean had called him. From the damn hospital. And his phone had been dead because John took his sweet time buying a new charger. As much as he wanted to scream and hit a damn wall - as much as he wanted to go out and hunt the bastards down who hurt his son - he didn’t do any of those things. All John could do was sit there and cry into his hands over his child’s pain and his own failures. And when Dean’s phone began to ring at 9 am, the caller ID donning a number with a California area code, all John could do was let it go to voicemail.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The evening came by slowly. With Dean’s phone dying before the kid got a chance to fully wake up and John not knowing how to say, “Your brother called but I let it go to voicemail” and Dean really not saying much of anything since then, the minutes ticked by slowly while John sat there at his bedside. The only break he had from that silence was when he went to go get himself something to eat. Although he might have preferred silence then. As the missed calls on his own phone got to him about Sam, he decided to rip the band-aid off and call his youngest. John doubted the phone got a full ring in before Sam picked it up. “Dad?” Sam’s tone didn’t really ease John’s guilt much either. “Hey, kid,” John answered tiredly, “Sorry I missed your calls.” “Why didn’t you pick up?” Sam asked, sounding just as strained as John felt, “You told me to call Dean and he didn’t answer. I called him a few times but I can understand why he might not answer if he’s not doing well and doesn’t want to talk right now. I get that. But why couldn’t you pick up, Dad? I’ve been losing my mind. I couldn’t concentrate on my paper, asked my professor for a damn extension. What’s going on?” John breathed out through his nose, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. I wanted to but I couldn’t, alright? Your brother is going through some stuff. I don't think he's even looked at his phone. Hell, I’m going through some stuff. I’ve been losing my mind with worry too. I got to keep whatever’s left of it focused on Dean and with him in the hospital right now-” “You told me he wasn’t hurt enough to be in the hospital!” Sam exploded, “You know, I’m really sick of you holding back information when it comes to our family-” “His stitches busted open, alright?” John snapped, “I might be able to stitch up arms, legs, and torsos, but I don’t have whatever’s needed for that. I doubt Dean would want me doing it anyway, although he sure as hell threw a fit here, Jesus Christ.” Both of them stayed silent for a few moments until Sam processed the information, “How is he...How is he doing?” “Terrible,” John bit out, “Won’t say a fucking word to me barely, not since he woke up at noon. Only says what he absolutely has to say and even those moments seem to be coming by less and less. I don’t know. It’s only been about seven hours since he woke up for good. Can’t tell if he’s barely talking to me because he’s angry at me for bringing him here or because of trauma. Might be both. Yeah, it probably is.” More silence from Sam, which was funny because Sam usually always had something to say when it came to John. Maybe it was because Sam’s never been around John when he was so worked up, so fucking bitter. Maybe Sam was finally able to see that he wasn’t some machine. “What can I do? Ask for anything and it’s done.” The question took him by surprise, not necessarily the word themselves. It was the way Sam’s words affected him, how John had to pull the phone away from his face and make sure he wasn’t going to put his youngest on the spot by bawling like some baby. The thing was, Sam shouldn’t be helping him deal with any of this. It didn’t come down to him. It came down to John. But he knew it would be a boldface lie if he said he had everything under control, that he could handle Dean’s situation, care, and emotional state all on his own. He thought about calling Jim, but even though he knew Jim to be a tenderhearted man, he was still religious. John was sure Jim wouldn’t blame the rape itself on Dean, but John had no idea what Jim’s views would be on how Dean got himself into that position or the whole bisexual thing if that came to light. What Dean didn’t need was judgment or conversion, even though John doubted Jim would be like that. The fact that he wasn’t 100% sure was enough to keep himself from calling him to see if they could stay for a while. Caleb had been a brief thought in his mind, but he was more of a drifter than they were. And as for Bobby? John knew Bobby would care for and accept Dean no matter what. He wouldn’t care about Dean’s sexuality and, while he might be angry about the prostitution thing, Dean wouldn’t be the main person Bobby blamed for that. John would be. That was more than enough reason for John not to call Bobby. They had left things off on bad terms anyway. “Dad. Dad! You there?” “...I’m here,” John answered, his voice pitchy, “Maybe you could uh...Maybe you could search on the computer and find a motel suite not far from the hospital. One with a bathtub. Dean’s supposed to be soaking several times a day and hasn’t been. Make sure there’s a kitchen too, so we don’t have to eat out all the time. I can cook for him.” Sam let out a watery laugh, “Dad, if you think cooking for him is gonna be a treat for him, then you might want to re-evaluate your culinary skills. The one time you attempted to do an actual Thanksgiving and not KFC was one of the worst meals I ever ate.” John snorted, “Yeah, well...I’m sure I could manage steak or spaghetti or chicken or somethin’. Making more than two kinds of food in an oven at a time is unnatural.” “So you proved back in 1991,” Sam answered with an almost relieving lightness in his tone, “Alright, what part of Indiana?” “We’re in Angola,” John said, “I’ll text you the card info so that you have it.” “Yeah, that’s fine. I can uh...I can look up apartments too. That might be good for Dean. I was looking up how to go about his injury. They say you can go back to work within a week and all of that, but we...I mean you and Dean don’t really have the kind of jobs they’re talking about. It’s really physical and it can take a couple of months for people to fully heal from something like that, even when they work a desk job. He should take it easy. And you really worried me when you said he wasn’t like himself. I mean, of course he’s not going to be like himself with what happened but if this is really messing with his head and hurting him then he should have a home base where there are resources. Like support groups for victims or a choice of therapists. Hell, maybe he can get involved with LGBTQ stuff and feel more comfortable with talking about it-” “Sam, you are rambling,” John interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose to fend off the headache his son was bringing on. “I just think this is a good reason for Dean, for both of you, to take a break. But especially Dean. If you guys moved here, we could get a place-” “No wonder you couldn’t get shit done today,” John growled, “Fantasizing about the three of us getting a house on the beach or some shit. That’s not how our life works, Sam, as much as I wish it could.” “You said you were afraid to leave him by himself!” Sam accused, losing his hopeful tone, “You might not have said the words, but you made it seem like Dean might be becoming suicidal over this. I only thought about you guys moving out here after I stood outside the admissions office for two hours going back and forth on whether I should drop out or not! I can’t just sit here halfway across the country doing nothing after what happened to him! I can’t do it, Dad! I need to be there for him because I’ve been a shit brother for over a year-” “Just...Just calm down, alright?” John said, trying to appease his escalating son over the phone, “Look, I get you’re worried. That you feel guilty. Hell, I get it more than anyone. I feel the exact same way. But I can’t make any promises. You know Dean. He gets as antsy as I do when he’s in one place too long.” Sam scoffed, “That’s because we never knew when we were going to have to pack up and move again. Dean, he...he always wanted a home. I know you know that. We just couldn’t let ourselves get used to a place, not fully. You were the same way.” “Fine,” John sighed, “I know. I know I fucked that up for you boys. But if you think that either of us are going to be able to keep Dean from hunting, then that’s just wishful thinking.” “I know,” Sam answered, “Finding what killed Mom is just as important to him. But he can’t do it if his head isn’t in the right place, if you think he might not care about what happens to him. He needs to have stability and support. Friends, ones outside of us that he can get to know and care about. A sense of community, hell, maybe he can go to school. He got a 790 average on the GED, out of a possible 800. Convert that into a GPA and he's almost at a 4.0. He thought he didn't do shit since he dropped out and I was too mad at him for leaving school at the time to make a big deal out of his results, but scores like that show how damn smart he is. I looked into it and even Stanford accepts a GED-” “I’ll think about it, alright?” John said, if only to get Sam to shut the hell up, “I can’t make any promises but I will consider it as an option. But seriously, quit thinking so far ahead and stop fantasizing. Dean hated school, so I doubt he would even consider doing that, let alone go your fucking fancy school. Besides, we can’t afford to-.” “If you’re talking about school, he could apply for scholarships and grants like I did-” “I meant we can’t afford to look ahead when we don’t even know what’s around the corner,” John groaned, “You are giving me headache, Sammy. I’m not sure why I called you now.” “To tell me why you were ignoring my calls,” Sam answered, “I found a decent place for you guys. I bought it for the week, wanted to do two but it would make my bank account go negative. I emailed the confirmation to you-” “Sam,” John growled, “I don’t want you paying for shit. Just because you don’t have to pay for your tuition and room doesn’t mean you have more money than you know what to do with. Cancel it and take my damn card.” “You should be able to print it at the library and just give it to them in the hotel lobby,” Sam continued, “It’s not a super pricey room, Dad. I’ll be fine. If you want to pay me back, then you can get me a plane ticket for the 18th in the evening. My last final is that morning. I checked the prices and a round trip plane ticket is weirdly just fifty dollars more than the bus. If neither of us can swing it, I was just going to see if I could borrow my roommate’s car. He has three of them at his house.” “Don’t fuck around with rich people. I don’t trust them. I’ll look into the plane ticket,” John told him, “Maybe I’ll try to hustle some pool this evening if Dean is okay with me leaving for a few hours. Might be the last time I get to leave him alone for a while without worrying about what he might be doing on his own.” “That could be another good reason to get a place here,” Sam pointed out, seeming to try to come off as subtle and miserably failing, “If he has a rough road ahead of him, then watching out for him won’t come down to just one person-” “Goodbye, son,” John sighed, “Try calling him again in a couple of days, okay? Once he’s settled into the motel and maybe feeling a little more comfortable. I’ll keep you updated until then.” The conversation took longer than he had been planning. By the time John actually chose his meal, paid for it, and went back up to Dean’s room, full plate in hand, he had been gone for a half hour. John could deal with Dean’s suspicious stare, even if he didn’t know quite how to explain his absence when he hadn’t eaten downstairs. But Dean didn’t ask any questions about it, didn’t say anything, even as John sat down and asked if he needed anything. The moment was too eerily similar to when Dean was four years old and not saying a word after his mother died. It didn’t seem normal for an adult go mute after trauma, but now that the possibility was in his head, he wondered if there was some sort of science behind it, a predisposition to go silent that Dean might have. A subconscious, go-to defense mechanism. “You didn’t eat much,” John said to him, hoping for an answer, “You know what the doctor said, son. High fiber, but normal amounts of food.” Dean didn’t have anything to say to that, but he made his point by pushing the tray farther from him, almost pouting as he did so. “Yeah, that doesn’t look very good. Can’t blame you,” John sighed, “Wanna share mine? The hospital cafeteria ain’t too bad. They have a place where they cook stir fry in front of you and everything. Got chicken and vegetables over brown rice and they gave me way too much. That should be good for you. Try a bite.” It was probably a ridiculously small win, but Dean just picking up his fork to eat off of John’s plate gave John some relief, some hope that things might be okay. And long after Dean went to bed and John somehow managed to collect almost seven hundred dollars hustling pool at four different bars without any punches getting thrown? Well, that seemed like a win too. ------------------ Dean’s discharge the next morning wasn’t the smoothest transition. It was awkward at best, with well-meaning doctors coming in to discuss not only post discharge care, but Dean’s psychological responses towards the ordeal and the resulting surgery. John knew they meant well, but they didn’t know when to stop pushing, not even when it became obvious that Dean wasn’t gonna talk. Although that did eventually become the brick wall. Not getting a yes or no or even maybe out of Dean made it so the conversation could only go so far until the doctor had to raise the metaphorical white flag in surrender. “I’m going to write a prescription for Zoloft for you,” Doctor Jones said finally, “It is far from a cure all when it comes to what you are going through, but might give you a head start. If you have trouble sleeping or have nightmares, a low dose over the counter sleep aid is fine to take with this, along with the pain medication your previous doctor prescribed. Are you two staying in town long or are you immediately headed back home? John looked down at Dean before meeting the doctor’s eyes, “We’re staying in the area for a couple of weeks. Like Doctor Novotny said, traveling isn’t good for him right now. So I found a place where he can focus on feeling better and doing what he needs to do. We’ll find a doctor who can keep an eye on his injuries when we go elsewhere, maybe someone he can talk to as well.” John could feel the sharp look he got from Dean when said that, but Doctor Jones was a little more satisfied with that answer, “Alright, Dean. Since you do have an appointment in a week with Doctor Novotny, I would like to go ahead and schedule something with you right after just to see how you're doing, especially if you get the prescription filled. If you don't, then I still would like to see you so that we can explore some options on how to get you feeling a little better. Sound good?” Dean glared daggers at the psychiatrist, so John had no choice but to answer for him, “We'll get it filled and see you in a week. He needs something. My boy's stubborn but he's in a lot of pain and I don't like seeing him like this. Trying it out won't hurt, Dean.” While the conversation got them out of the hospital, John couldn't help but look at at the way Dean's fingernails dug into his own thighs as John rolled his wheelchair down the hall. After they got to the parking garage and found the Impala, John locked the wheelchair in place, then came to the front of it to help Dean stand. Despite Dean showing a stubbornness this morning that could rival Sam's, he also still had medicines in his system that dulled the pain better than any pill could, but made him drowsy. So while Dean stared at John's hands with petulance, he did accept their help to stand, as well as an arm around his waist to ease him into a sitting position on top of the cushion the hospital provided. John was glad for that much, as well as Dean's sleepy state. It made him a little less nervous to leave his son in the car for ten minutes while he went into the library. While it would usually be the other way around - leaving his injured and medicated son in the car by himself purposely with no weapons or keys to the trunk should be giving him a damn heart attack. But with Dean's head being where it was at, John was currently more concerned about the damage Dean could do on his own. For both reasons he wanted to keep it moving and get back to his kid quick. The motel Sam ended up getting them turned out not to be a motel at all. When John got logged on to one of the computers and checked his email, he rolled his eyes in exasperation when he saw the corporate Ramada logo in the corner of Sam's forwarded message, then skimmed past the pictures of the pool and sauna, briefly raised a brow at a CEO discount code that gave Sam 75% off the total price, then clicked print in the corner before going up to pay the librarian ten cents for the page. And as soon as he went outside to look at the Impala and see if Dean was still in there just how he left him, John went back in to book a flight for his youngest and forwarded the information to him. While Dean was drowsy as they pulled into the hotel parking lot, he was awake enough to look out the window incredulously even though he didn't make one comment about it. It wasn't as if the boys never stayed at a hotel before. Sometimes that was all there was, occasionally John bypassed the motels for their level of seediness and settled on a hotel so he didn't have to worry about gunshots and drug deals all through the night, and once or twice John wanted to do something nice for them by getting a three star room and a decent continental breakfast. But motels were their go to and were usually more equipped for longer term stays when they got stuck in a town for a month or so. Any stretch longer than two and John usually tried to get an apartment. The longest they stayed in one spot was a year about four years back, although John had taken off a week or two at a time. But they hadn't settled down in an apartment since before Sam left. John had no reason to, not with Sam gone and no longer demanding some semblance of stability. Not with him pushing Dean to go be a 22 year old and have some fun and independence in between hunts. John hadn't expected Dean getting a boyfriend when that happened but John supposed Luke gave Dean more stability than he ever did. Even before John knew about Dean's relationship with the guy, he did know that they were living together at Luke's place. He even stopped by once, early on. There had been one bedroom but he had just assumed Dean was sleeping on the couch. He was such a dumb, shit father. He couldn't see when his kid was renting himself out to men for years, and he couldn't see when his kid was in love with someone, even when some signs had been there. He wished he could claim this, wanting to make sure Dean stayed somewhere a little nicer while he rested and healed up, but that had been Sam's doing. “You ready?” John asked as he tried to smile, his voice too strained to not be noticed, but if Dean noticed, he didn't say anything. All he did was step out of the Impala and promptly stumble. “Dean!” John called out, running around the car to steady his slumped over son, “Do I need to take you back to the hospital? Jesus Christ, did you feel like this the first time around? Did you drive like this?” But apparently John wasn't worthy of an answer to that. He was, however, worthy enough to keep a steady hand on Dean's back as they made their way to the lobby to get checked in and to their room. As soon as John got Dean on the farthest bed, Dean crawled up near the top and got under the covers, his hair barely peeking out from beneath them. “I will give you an hour, then run you a bath, okay?” John said, patting Dean's shoulder, “I'm going to run out to the car and get the food from the other day. After you wake up and soak a bit, we can rent a movie on pay per view and eat lunch. Sound good?” Nothing. The lack of response ended up fueling his speed when it came to getting to the car and back, which was a shame because he usually liked to get an idea of their surroundings whenever they stopped somewhere longer than a night. He knew the hospital was a ten minute drive. However, despite how quickly he went back inside the hotel, he did see that there was a Blockbuster to their left, a library across the street, and a diner to their right, as well as an old movie theater down the road. Briefly, John wondered if Sam had scouted the place out in order to make sure Dean had some places around to keep himself occupied. When John got back to the room, Dean was asleep - or at least doing a good job with faking it. The blinds were pulled down, the curtains were closed, and the heater was blasting on high, so Dean had made some adjustments while he was gone, although they weren't ones Dean would usually make in the past. Dean didn't like total darkness like this while he slept. He usually kept the bathroom light on or the TV, he tended to like it to be a little cooler while he slept, and he rarely slept under the covers unless he was sick or had limbs popping out in every which way. The way Dean was sleeping now, in a ball and under every blanket on his bed as well as the spare that had been folded on the top shelf in the closet. It made him wonder why it had changed - when it had changed. While John supposed sharing a bed with Luke might have altered Dean's sleeping habits, he doubted it would be this much. But Dean seemed comfortable enough, enough to begin snoring just slightly, so John didn't touch anything except for his phone. He didn't usually send texts, but he didn't want to step outside to make the call or risk Dean hearing it when John went to the bathroom.
We are at the hotel. He is groggy
from IV meds so he went straight to bed.
will try to call and talk later depending
on how he's doing.
John waited in the darkness for about twenty minutes before receiving an answer.
Glad you got settled in. Maybe go
rent some movies and get a library card
so that he won't get bored or sleep
all day or have trouble sleeping because
he isn't doing anything.
Tomorrow. Want to figure out where his
head is at but he still isn't talking.
Still?
Yeah. Later.
When Dean's hour was up, John went to the bathroom to turn on the water, then poured some of the medicated soap underneath the stream before going over to wake Dean up. “Come on, kid,” John said, pulling the covers down, “Time to wake up.” When Dean opened his eyes, they are only briefly dazed and glassy before turning settling into pure panic as he yanked the covers back around him and began to shake. “No no no no no no.” “Hey,” John murmured, keeping his hands visible as he hesitantly reached out, “I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe, alright-” And although John should have expected the situation to escalate, going by the last 36 hours, give or take, he wasn't expecting Dean to wail. “STOP IT! STOP! I'M SORRY! JUST FUCK ME INSTEAD, OKAY? PLEASE! I'm sorry I'm sorry...Don't touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME!” John swallowed down the bile as Dean lost himself to panic, before sitting on the bed and trying to get his son detangled from the sheets. “Hey, hey, it's just a spill, buddy,” John said, cupping his hand behind Dean’s neck, “You're okay. It's over. That nightmare is over. You're here with me. Your dad. You called me and I drove here to meet you, remember? We are in the Ramada, you're alright. You gotta calm down though, okay? That's it…” The way tears splashed down Dean's cheeks made John want to cry himself, but he couldn't do that. He needed to be the parent here, the anchor that could keep Dean tethered. Dean deserved a better anchor than him, but he did seem to be coming back to himself a bit as he wiped his face with his hands and started putting his guards back up. While part of John wanted to get Dean to talk about the words he had just cried out, he wasn't sure it was the right time for that. John knew a few more of the details and he could put two and two together on what Dean had been dreaming about. But hearing what happened from Dean would be different than reading it from a report summary, harder. John didn't think Dean was ready for that, and to be honest, John wasn't either. “There are some clothes in the bathroom for you to change into,” John told him once Dean silently got to his feet, “I got your toiletry bag in there too, since I know you're not a fan of hotel soap. Just try to go relax, alright? If you need me, I'll be out here.” While Dean's meltdown had been heartbreaking, it had given John some hope that the spell of silence was over. But as Dean walked to the bathroom, he said nothing. --------------------------------Sam may have had a point regarding giving Dean things to do. The first and second nights were sleepless for Dean, and not due to nightmares or any noticeable flashbacks. Dean just didn't sleep and since John was so on edge already, he would wake up any time Dean walked back and forth from the bathroom or changed the channel on the TV. Although he felt exhausted, he wasn't going to say anything about it, wasn't going to give Dean any shit or orders about his schedule of all things right now, even though it was 3 o'clock in the morning. “You need a sleeping pill?” John muttered from the other bed, and okay, maybe he was going to give Dean a little shit over this - albeit nicely, “You've been restless all night. Doctor said it was fine to take one with the Zoloft.” Which didn't seem to be helping Dean much at all. And yeah, John had just gotten the prescription filled yesterday morning and Dean had literally just started it, but the boy actively tried to sleep all day, didn't talk, and seemed on edge during the night. But Dean didn't seem interested as he slowly shook his head no. “You want to lie down with me?” John asked. It took longer for Dean to answer that one, but it ended up being a no as well. While John didn't mean for Dean to take his suggestion as such, the boy seemed to try to actively settle down a little more out of courtesy. It wasn't until John was almost asleep when his eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean's voice. “What's a spill?” It took a moment for John to piece together the question, with it being asked so suddenly and due to the shock of Dean actually talking to him again. But as soon as he was able to do that, John sat up in his bed and looked at Dean. “Something your mother used to say,” John said gently, “She used to say it to you when you had night terrors, although I doubt you would remember those. Hell, you didn't remember the next morning. Something she said to me too.” Dean nodded, although still looking visibly confused in the blue light emitting from the TV, so John elaborated. “It's when you're dreaming and you wake up suddenly, but your mind doesn't know the difference from what's in front of you and what's in your head. It's like when your body wakes up first and you're saying things - doing things - in response to what you think you're seeing, but you're really just dreaming. Sort of like your dream is spilling out into the real world. That make sense?” Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable but still curious, “Why'd she say it to you?” John let out a breath and ran a hand down his face, “The war messed me up for a while. I saw some things no one should see, but thought I had it under control when I came back. The nightmares stopped for a while after I met your mom. I suppose love does that, makes things better. But about a couple of years in, after we moved in together but before we got married, my best friend - who had been struggling with what he saw over there - killed himself. In front of his wife and twin daughters.” Dean turned more to face John, concerned etched in his features, “You never told me that.” “Yeah, well,” John sighed, “It's never been something I like to think about. Elaine, his wife, called Mary up hysterical. We got there around the same time the coroner did. With my training and what I had seen, you'd think I would take charge. Get them out of the room, make sure they had a place to stay, clean up, because it had been bloody and terrible and I might not even have believed it was Harvey if it weren't for the tattoo on his arm. But Mary was the one to take care of things, didn't even blink. I froze, could barely breathe at a sight I had seen so many times before. Mary had me take the girls back to our house. I didn't know what to say to them. They were only four or so. I had nightmares for a while after that. At least a year. Some were about what happened, but it also triggered nightmares about the war again, it would sometimes make me have flashbacks in the middle of the day and zone out. I…I hit your mother once, in the middle of the night. She had gotten up to get a drink of water, come back, and I woke up but I was still seeing my dream in my head and I could just sense someone standing over me. I didn't know what I was doing, thought I was hitting a prison guard. She was…damn, she was tougher than any prison guard though. Had me pinned down on the bed within seconds. After I came to my senses, I was devastated and it made it ten times worse when I saw the bruise on her cheek. I told her she should leave me, that I was dangerous and crazy. She just reached over, touched my face, and said, ‘You're not crazy and I know you didn't mean to do it. It was just a spill.’” John stopped the story there, coughing and turning his head to wipe at his eyes, “So yeah. That's uh…that's what a spill is.” Long after John laid back down, he could feel his son's eyes on him, but Dean didn't say another word. John was okay with that this time around. He wasn't feeling up to talking anymore tonight anyway.