Phew, finally!! The last chapter to a story that was meant to be a one shot! Nooooooooo coooooooooment.
Okay so this chapter kind of sucks, and I think that I won't be able to read any reviews ('m way to nervous) before I get my fix of chocolate, but… idk… I hope it fixes everything. I think I answered every plot question you might have had and if I didn't… talk to me! I know I probably didn't explain some stuff, so....'m here. LOL
Thank you so much everyone for reading and sticking with me through this. Thank you!
The dirty bathroom mirror showed his eyes widen and his breath stop, when that little word reached him through the tightly shut door. He knew it was Sam, he knew it was his little brother who ripped that 'no' from his throat. He would recognize that voice anywhere, anytime. There were some rustling and banging noises coming from the room, noises that make you think that the whole place blew up.
There was no room for panic in his mind, no room for his own fear and exhaustion, because there was only Sam. Help Sam, go see what's going on, go fix your brother.
He was out of the bathroom before he could even blink and he wished that he could blink now, because the sight that greeted him widened his eyes and made him choke on Sam's name: "Sam?"
Dean turned his head towards the voice that called his name and saw his Dad's eyes wide open… there was something in them, something that Dean just couldn't indentify. Fear maybe, panic perhaps, or maybe it was an unspoken whatthehellisgoingon?... whatever it was, Dean had no answers to give. All he could do was stand there, glued to his spot, his hand still holding the bathroom door's handle in a death grip, his eyes not wanting to leave the sight of his Dad. He was afraid of what he might see if he would let his eyes wonder around the room.
John was standing still as a statue by the door, his right hand gripping the duffle bag for a second too long, before he dropped it on the floor. The noise that did made Dean flinch. He was so used to the silence, to only his and Sam's voice filling up the little room, that any sudden noise now made him flinch and shudder.
He had to repeat the word, because the first time he said it, the word sounded hollow in the quiet room. But this time around, it held some substance, because his Dad was really standing there, dripping wet from the rain. There was a small puddle forming beneath his feet, rain water being soaked by the carpet.
Dean could see his father's eyes leave his and move quickly to his left. Dean didn't want to fallow them, but heart works faster then your mind sometimes and before he knew it, he was looking at the small form of his little brother, squeezing himself into a corner by the bed. It always amazes Dean, how Sam, tall and all legs and arms can make himself look so small, smaller then a dwarf.
Sam wanted to hide, wanted to make himself look invisible, make himself as small as a spider so that he would be able to run away through a crack in the wall. He wanted to escape the two sets of eyes he felt burning holes on his back. One of his brother's and the other of his father. His dead father. A man that is most definitely not his Dad.
There was an ache in his chest that spread up to his throat, wanting to choke him. He wanted to let that happen, because… maybe that would make him pass out and he wouldn't be forced to see his Dad… his dead Dad. A man that was most definitely not his Dad.
The man standing in the room was most definitely not his father. His father was dead. He saw it happen. Even if Dean said that their Dad was alive and well. He saw… with his own eyes… his Dad die. The words he knew so well, still echoed in his mind… help me, boy.
He raised his hands and buried them into his hair and pushed himself deeper into the corner, feeling the walls on his side, feeling the cold of the wooden floor seep into his behind.
This isn't Dad, this isn't Dad… 's not Dad. Can't be Dad. Dad's dead, his mind kept saying and the words found their way to his mouth, because he could feel his tongue wrap itself around them. And that was bad. He would be heard. His brother and that man would hear him and they would come to him, and and and… he wouldn't be able to hide. He just wanted to hide, to make himself even smaller, unnoticeable, quiet. But his muscles started to hurt, hunched over and smashed to the wall like that… his eyes had water in them, he could feel it run down his cheeks, his heart was going miles per hour, his mind was still replaying 's not Dad, 's not Dad, can't be Dad, Dad's dead.
His back felt hot, there was a solid warm pressure on it, right between his shoulder blades… the warmth slowly spread all through his body, making him shiver.
There was no answer, just a shiver that went through Sam's skin. Dean could feel it… it was an odd sensation, feeling something move beneath your fingers, something that you caused, but didn't wanna cause.
No answer, but Dean could hear Sam's breathy words: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"
Dean chased the words with his ear, leaning over Sam's shaking back to press his cheek to Sam's ear. The words were there, on a loop: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"
Dean looked at his father, still standing there by the door, with a frown on his face and Dean shook his head, when John asked: "Dean?"
Dean knew he needed to make Sam listen, to make Sam realise that… this was their father, that their Dad wasn't dead, that the witch was an evil bitch and that Dad was okay, alive and breathing. He needed to make Sam see that, feel that. He could do that now, with their father in the room with them… all those words he told Sam before were just that, words, but now… now their Dad was in the same room with them and he could make Sam see him, feel him, touch him. This was good. This was gonna work.
But he couldn't make any irrational moves, like allowing his Dad to come to Sam before his brother was ready. That… that would push the kid back into himself, into his mind and there was no telling when and how they would get him back. Because Sam was sensitive, even if he barely showed it. Especially now, when he was a teenager. He sulked and bitched and brooded and didn't talk and talked too much and sulked some more, but when it came to it… Sam was a sensitive soul and Dean didn't want to break it. Before… when Sam was acting all tough and 'oh it was just a witch, I knew that'… Sam was lying and he was scared and it was a coping mechanism to not drown in everything that was going on in his head. Dean knew that. He did.
So he stopped his father's step forward by shaking his head 'no'. He could see John hesitate because after all, Sam was his boy, his son, and Dean knew that his Dad would do anything, anything at all to protect Sam… them.
There was no answer, but Dean wasn't going for one. He was going for permission to touch Sam and not being slapped away or screamed at. He didn't want to startle Sam, he didn't want to make his little brother want to make himself even smaller… he just needed to raise Sam's head up and around so that he could look into his little brother's eyes and check for damage.
Sam felt a word being breathed down his neck, a word he should probably know, a word that he heard so many times, but right now that word meant nothing to him. But he didn't flinch. He didn't move away, he didn't try to squeeze himself tighter to the wall… because even if the word held no meaning, the voice saying it was something else. The voice held something sharp and slow, a question that needed no answer. Which was okay with him, because his mouth was stuck on: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"
Dean could feel the way Sam's fingers were moving in his little brother's mop of brown hair, he could feel them move against his cheek that was still pressed to Sam's temple. He could hear the rustle the movement made and he raised his hand to pry Sam's fingers out of there… he grabbed Sam's wrists and pulled but didn't let go. He could feel the pulse under his fingers, he could feel Sam's tiny bones underneath his fingers… he sighed. Sam was scared and there was nothing he could do about that. Not yet. First he needs to see… see Sam's eyes, see how far away his little brother is.
When a touch came to his chin, he didn't move away. He couldn't, because the touch was too strong and too light to do anything about it. And before he knew it, his neck was being twisted and his eyes locked with a greenness that was shadowed with the silent morning light.
"Sam, Sam… listen to me. It's Dad, ok? Alright? It's Dad," Dean chased Sam's teary eyes with his own and when finally locking them in place, "it's Dad, trust me. Can you trust me?"
Dean saw Sam's eyes dart away again and he tried to catch them once again, dropping his head down low in order to look at Sam: "Sam… it's Dad. Trust me, hey, hey look at me," he waited for his brother to look at him, with tears shining in the corner of Sam's eyes, almost breaking him in half:" It's Dad. Trust me. I can see him. I can touch him," he let go of Sam's left wrist and reached his hand behind him, gripping his Dad's arm, "see that? Dad. Sammy, it's Dad. It's Dad… trust me."
This was not real… his brother, his own brother was lying to him. Dad's dead… he saw him die. His Dad begged him to help him and he couldn't…
"I couldn't save him. He said help me, boy and I couldn't save him. I couldn't…"
Dean was startled when he heard Sam begin to speak. His brother's voice was hoarse, tight, scratched raw… words were being broken apart by sharp breaths, by strength being lost. Sam was finally there… breaking apart like he should have done hours ago. This was good, this was something Dean could work with. He just needed Sam to calm down and to realise that Dad was there and that he will always be there.
"Sam… Sammy… Dad's alright. He's right here, he's fine. Calm down, okay? Dad's right here. He is… you saved him… 's fine. You were awesome, man. That witch didn't stand a chance."
"But I didn't save him." Sam muttered.
Dean was going into lying territory, but hell… he needed to make Sam see that their Dad was alright and if that meant lying to the kid... okay. He would do damage control later. He just has to make Sam see that his Dad is okay and alive and if that means lying about Sam saving him, so be it.
Dean had no idea why Sam kept saying that he couldn't save their Dad, but… he can go along with Sam, play the game, make Sam think that he saved their Dad. No problem.
"You did, you saved him and the witch went down and it was awesome, dude."
Dean flinched at the lies, but damnit, sometimes you have to do what you have to do, even if it involves lying.
He wanted to grab hold of Sam and push him towards himself – it would be a hug, but he didn't care - when a strong hand stopped his movement. He turned around and saw his Dad shake his head 'no'.
No? What the…?
Before Dean could form a question, John mouthed 'move away'.
Dean did. He couldn't not obey an order. It wasn't what he was raised to do.
"Sam," John stepped closer to his son, "you did good, Sammy. You saved me."
He kept his voice low and calm and sharp and soothing. He can play the game too even though he had no idea what was going on. He will have to ask Dean about this later. But right now...
"'m here. 'm right here, Sam."
He moved closer towards Sam's hunched form with every word he spoke, until he had his back against the wall and Sam's shaking body pressed to his chest. He could feel his son shake and flinch away, but he was stronger and Sam stand no chance of getting away from him. He would never let his little boy get away from him. He would protect him for ever and even after that. Sam was his little boy, his youngest son, his… the last thing Mary gave to him. There was no way that a witch would win this. There was no way in hell that a witch would take away his son.
"I couldn't save you. You asked me to help you and I couldn't."
The words were muffled by John's shirt, because Sam tucked his head closer to his Dad's chest and inhaled the smell that made him raise his hands and clutch the wet shirt. Gun powder, whiskey and leather.
"You did save me. You helped me and 'm okay."
Dean panicked that after that tone of voice with which his Dad just said his brother's name, harsh words would come, but he was proven wrong when his Dad just… ran his hand through Sam's hair, pushed Sam closer to himself and said: "'m safe. You saved me. You did good, son."
That made Sam hide his face in the soft rain soaked fabric of his father's shirt and Dean knew that Sam was crying. There was no sound coming from Sam, but some cut off breaths that Dean knew so well what they meant. He heard Sam crying late at night in his bed way too many times not to know how it went.
Finally, Dean thought, finally his Dad would be able to fix this… make Sam see and feel and make him believe that he did good.
"She really did a number on him, huh?"
Dean was pulled back from his thoughts when his father spoke those words.
"She's been taken care of." John said over Sam's mop of hair.
Dean did a little happy dance in his mind and then he wanted to go after the witch and kill her all over again.
It was… odd to see his little brother trying to hide into their Dad's embrace. The last time that happened was with that Shtriga, but that was when Sam was little… really little…
Dean thought that Sam will feel a lot embarrassed come afternoon, but... this was what was needed. He won't tease him about it. Never. Ever.
Little, muttered words were coming from Sam, breaking the silence of the room: "'m sorry, 'm sorry, Dad…" and tiny, breathless words were coming from John: "'s okay, 's okay, you did good, son, 'm okay," and sliding his fingers through Sam's hair: 'm not gonna die that easily, not gonna die period…"
By pushing Sam into their father's arms, Dean knew he fixed Sam. When he heard Sam say 'Dad' he knew that Sam would be okay, once he stops crying and comes back to himself.
Dean was once again startled out of his thoughts by his Dad's voice.
"Hate them." And he pressed his palm down on the centre of Sam's spine, trying to smooth out his brother's tremors: "Hate them so much."
John looked at Dean over Sam's head: "Me too, boy. Me too."