A/N: Sorry, this is the best I could come up with. Story title is taken from the Paul Newman flick, Cool Hand Luke (Strother Martin's infamous line of dialogue: "What we have heah is failure…to communicate.")
Word Count each section: 100
Summary: E/O CHALLENGE. Drabble word: tense. Dean's hurt, and John and Sam are at each other's throats. It ain't pretty, folks.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
The fug's dead, finally, ashes to ashes, burning bright, but it poisoned Dean before it died.
John realizes what's happened in a heartbeat.
Dean rushes towards John, uncoordinated, sloppy. He's all murderous rage, with no skill or finesse behind it. John puts his arm up, blocks the fists Dean sends flying at his face.
"Easy, son," John rumbles. Dean doesn't listen or speak. He growls instead, low and deep.
John takes the blows as he pins Dean's arms to his sides.
Dean's muscles tense up as he strains to break free. John holds him tight until Dean passes out.
Sam helps John carry Dean into the cabin. It's the wrong damn time for any of this emo crap, so John ignores the way Sam glares at him.
Dean groans as John carefully works the dart out of his shoulder.
Sam watches and his jaw tightens with every move John makes.
Twenty minutes later, Dean's pale and quiet.
How many more times am I gonna have to see this? Sam thinks to himself. One of these days Dean won't pull through.
The air's too sharp, too tense, and when John enters the room Sam starts yelling.
Dean never remembers what happens next. He doesn't remember getting up.
"BOTH OF YOU DUMB SONSABITCHES OUGHTA SHUT THE HELL UP!" Dean yells.
The tense feeling of the room shatters like thin, overheated glass.
"What the hell kinda father are you, Dad? 'm your son, not your soldier." Dean sways on his feet in the doorway, eyes too bright, skin rosy with fever. "You think you're smarter than me, Sammy? You're not. "
John and Sam are shocked into silence.
"Stupid bast'rds," Dean mumbles darkly to himself.
He leans heavily against the door jamb, turns and staggers back to bed.
Thanks for reading. Please review.