Okay, I promise I'll get back to crashing planes at some point. This is a new story. I would like to clarify, in case I get any reviews about this, that this is not a death fic.
This is an AU from the pilot episode.
Disclaimer: Nothing is owned by me.
A few notes: Dean fights the woman in white alone. John still disappears.
John Winchester made a point of never sneaking into a mans motel room unarmed. Especially, if the man was his son Dean. He knew his son well, and he also knew, by doing
this, he was risking serious injuryfrom whatever he had under his pillow. He didn't care. A bullet wound may have been easier for him to deal with. However, nothing happened
and he managed to close the door quietly. Despite the time, the light was on and so was the television. Perhaps that was why he was lying in pain on the floor. His son was
awake. Maybe he already knew. John shuddered. When he turned around, he saw what was unmistakably his son under the blankets of the single bed furthest from the doorm
fast asleep. John glanced at the television and winced. The news was coming on again. He reached for the remote and pressed mute. Sam's picture appeared on the screen. He
looked away and bit his lip. He was thankful he had muted the television. He didn't know how many more times he could listen to the story. It was bad, no horrible enough,
hearing it the first time.
His foot nudged an empty beer bottle. Scanning the floor, he counted three others. There was the reason Dean hadn't woken up. He'd druken himself into a stupor. It was fitting,
John reasoned. Drink until the pain stops eating away at you. Until you can't feel the pain. Until you don't know how you are anymore. That had been John's second instinct when
he heard the news. The first was to find his son.
Now, looking at Dean (who was sleeping peacefully), he felt the sadness creep up on him again. Innocence and peace were apparent on his childs face. John didn't want to be
the one to end that. To wake him up and remind him of the harsh new reality they faced. Because that's what it was. Harsh. Unforgiving and hard. John sat on the empty bed and
sighed. He let Dean sleep on. John had no intention of sleeping.
Dean awoke to one hell of a hang-over. Clapping his hand to his hand, he moaned softly. He sat up and the blankets fell off him. He was still fully clothed. He jumped in fright
when he looked across the room.
His dad was lying with his back leaning against the headboard. He was watching Dean silently. He looked utterly woebegone. Dean wondered what he was doing here.
"DAd? I got your journal. Why did you leave it?"
John was silent. He did not seem to hear Deans questions. His eyes narrowed and he sighed.
"That doesn't matter now." His voice was hoarse.
"Why I left doesn't matter."
Dean was thrown by the flippancy of this statement. "Why would you say something like that?"
JOhn picked up the remote. Turning up the sound, he motioned for Dean to watch.
"...residents of the nearby buildings and bars were evacuated."
Dean didn't see the relevancy of this. H opened his mouth to question his dad but John, sensing this, shook his head and motioned for him to watch.
"The extent of the damage is obvious-" The picture of a ruined apartment flashed up. "Firefighters worked around the clock for three hours to contain the blaze. Police have
confirmed two fatalities."
Two pictures flashed up onto the screen, to replace the scene of the ruined building. Dean felt winded.
Sam Winchesters face smiled at them from the screen.