Summary: Another Christmas, another argument. Dean goes for a walk to get away for a bit, but lost in his thoughts he doesn't keep eyes on the road he's walking along… Preseries, Dean 20, Sam 16.
Warnings: Mention of violence and a bit of blood.
Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.
Dean wished they would just shut up. He was tempted to put his hands over his ear and hum Metallica or something but resisted. John would try to chew him out then too.
Not that he was exactly chewing Sam out. Rather the opposite. Both were full-shouting at each other, refusing to back down, gesturing wildly with their hands that Dean was a bit scared they would knock something over sooner or later.
Trying to focus on the TV, Dean determinately turned his head away from the two people he loved more than life itself, hating it when they argued. Plus it was soon Christmas… he was pretty sure the argument was about that. Sam wanting to stay and celebrate Christmas while John wanted to move on.
"For once, dad, just for once why can't we stay at a place for longer than a few weeks?! It's not like you have a job to do right now!"
"We are leaving in the morning, and that's final!" John shouted.
"Why?!" Sam's favourite phrase. Why? Why this? Why that? Why how? Why why? Dean shut the TV off, couldn't do it. He had to get out. Grabbing his jacket he walked towards the door.
"Where the hell are you going?"
John's voice still carried anger and Dean stopped. He turned his head slightly and said quietly:
"Just for a walk. Need some air."
It was as if his soft voice stopped all argument leaving either mouth. He tended to have that effect on both of them. John sank down on the kitchen chair wearily as Sam stepped towards their bedroom.
"It's dark outside," John said. "Watch yourself."
"Yes, sir," Dean said and then he was out. Once he shut the door he leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep, gulping breath and then began to walk. As he came to the road he kept to the side as he brought his arms around his chest, hugging himself. Snowflakes had begun to fall, and he tilted his head up, letting them fall gently on his face.
Closing his eyes, Dean allowed himself to relax and wash away the argument from his mind, at least until he had to go back. There the tension and anger would linger in the air, make him breathe it in and hearing his father either drink or clean the guns for the fifth time. Go to bed and feel the anger radiate from his kid brother, Sam vibrating and just waiting to get back up and continue shouting at John. If he was lucky, Dean would be able to calm him down. It was amazing how much some touch did to Sam; the moment Dean lay down in Sam's bed the teen seemed to relax and even more so when he was hugged to Dean's chest. He had to admit that hadn't happened for a while. He decided to try it, if anything to calm him down for the night. Kid needed sleep and he needed some peace and quiet.
As he walked, he never noticed the car drawing closer or its movements, from one side to the other. Too late he opened his eyes and saw the headlights. He whipped around and felt pain explode before everything blacked out.
John was gritting his teeth, slamming down the weapons harder than necessary as he watched the clock. He and worry never worked well together. It just ended with him being pissed off and shouting at the closest person.
But Dean had been gone for four hours. A walk can't take that long!
The timid voice of his youngest and he dropped his head, all anger leaving. He put the last gun down gently and dropped the cloth on the table.
"Yeah, Sam?" he asked and turned to look at the teen.
"Dean… he hasn't come back."
"I know, I've tried to call him."
"About that…" Sam held up his hand, and John stared.
Dean's phone. 4 missed calls the screen told the man. He must have turned the sound off considering neither him nor Sam heard it.
"Fuck," he growled and got up. "Alright, Bobby ain't too far away. I'll call him and ask him to help me search."
"You sure you need Bobby?"
"Son, there are a dozen of roads here. Dean could be anywhere. Bobby should be here within a half-hour." Yet again he wondered why they had not simply driven all the way to the man. Then he remembered their last argument and realized that was why. No matter now; Bobby loved the kids, he wouldn't turn John away.
Sam watched as John briefly spoke on the phone, holding Dean's phone close and looked down at it. He missed his brother already. It was getting late and Sam was a bit tired. Normally Dean would be lying in the bed next to his, or in his own, and snoring softly, the kind of snore than was no louder than heavy breathing. It kept Sam calm, and made him feel safe. Let him know Dean was there with him.
He looked up at his father, startled.
"Bobby's gonna look along the main road as he comes in and then call me back," John said as he pulled his jacket on. "I'll search as well, I'll call you on Dean's phone okay?"
John grabbed a gun just to be safe, already having cleared away all the others, and moved towards the door.
He turned back to his son.
"Just find him," the teen said, clutching the phone to his chest.
John had nearly forgotten just how close his sons were but was now painfully reminded. Dean was more than a brother to Sam; he was more of a father or, when Sam was younger, a mother. It kept him amused even to this day that Sam had called Dean 'mom' as a child. Dean still blushed about that.
Now he smiled reassuringly to his son and said:
"Don't worry; we'll find him."
Dean felt awfully cold and his voice was hoarse from yelling. His face was white, lips blue, dried dark red blood at the corners of his mouth and nose, having lost almost all feeling in his body. His hair was white with frost and he tried to move again without success. It hurt. Not as much as he thought it would, but it wasn't a walk on roses.
He breathed deeply and tried again, slower this time. Managing to roll over to his stomach he held himself up to not put pressure on his bruised ribs. He had been hit by a car. Had to be a freaking drunk driver, he had almost been walking in the ditch! Dean gritted his teeth, tasted blood and spit some out before slowly rising up. It was a deep ditch, meaning he had to climb to get up. He felt his body tremble, then squared his shoulders and beginning to climb.
He had no idea what time it was, but knew he had been gone long enough for his dad and brother to worry. With that in mind, Dean pushed on, dug his cold fingers into the snow and heaved his shaking body upwards, towards the road and civilization.
"I got nothing," John said.
"Well," came Bobby's voice, "I'm gonna check up this last stretch of road. Did something happen before he left?"
"Well no," John said and looked over at the door where he knew Sam was. "Or… yeah…"
"Was it you and Sam again butting heads?"
"More or less," he replied.
"John, kid's as stubborn as you but why won't you cut him some slack once in a while? Might be good to Dean too." Bobby was a bit annoyed at John but tried his best to keep calm even as he looked around the road he was driving slowly on. Tire tracks on the road suggestion someone had had fun, driving across the road back and forth.
"Why would it be good to Dean too?"
"John, he loves you both. Don't you think hearing you screaming makes him tired?" Bobby said, mentally slapping the man over the head. Dean hated it when they fought. Bobby had found the young man when John and Sam reached their climax, standing in the living room just out-right screaming. Dean had been sitting on the porch, hands over his ears and humming some song, gently rocking back and forth. He had looked near tears.
"Maybe," John said, interrupting his thoughts. "But…"
Bobby drowned the voice out as he saw the tire tracks dangerously close to the ditch and then… he stopped the car.
"John, I gotta go," he said.
"What, do you see him? Did you find Dean?"
"I don't know yet." Bobby ended the call and was out the car a moment later. He ran up to the spot and kneeled down. Footsteps. Tracing it gently, he realized the shoe was Dean's size. He looked further, glad the falling snow hadn't completely covered the tracks.
His face lost all colour when he saw the signs of someone being thrown… down the ditch.
"Dean!" he screamed.
Dean's head swam but he heard the voice clear as day. Bobby?
"Bobby?" he tried, hating how weak he sounded. But he wasn't going to be any quieter just to save pride. "Bobby!"
The man heard a weak response and ran to the beginning to the ditch, fumbling for the flashlight he had in his pocket, turned it down and made a sweep. When he found Dean, he got even paler.
The young man looked like he was dead, face so white that his green eyes looked almost black, the dried blood in his face and the shaking of his body. He wasn't far away.
"Dean, just stay there. I'll come and get you!"
Dean gratefully sat down, hearing Bobby making his way down. He let his head slump forward and closed his eyes, trying to control his shivers. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore and pulled them out of the snow.
Bobby's hands on his shoulders, Dean were lifted within moments and he vaguely wondered where Bobby had gotten that strength from to lift him like it was nothing. Deciding not to complain, he wrapped his arms around the older man's neck the best he could and pressed his face into the man's shoulder.
"You hurt?" Bobby grunted as he made his way upwards.
"Ribs… hurt. Dunno where the blood comes from," Dean mumbled. "Cold…"
"Alright, I'm gonna do a check over you when you're in the car, okay?"
Dean woke up again when Bobby gently slapped his face. He looked through heavy lids at the man, scowling. The man had gotten Dean's jacket off and was now examining the bruised chest, Dean hissing.
"Nothing broken far as I can tell," Bobby said. "You probably bit through your cheek at the impact of the car. You were hit, right?"
"Yeah… didn't think… didn't see it…"
"Hey, from what I could tell the car wasn't supposed to be where you walked," Bobby said. "No worries there, let's just get you back to your dad and Sam?"
Dean nodded and slumped back against the seat, breathing controlled to help with the pain in his chest.
"Come on, Bobby, pick up!"
John had tried to call Bobby now five times since the man hung up, and Sam was wide-awake, wearing one of Dean's T-shirts instead of his own, clutching the fabric between his hands. He looked so damn young with that fear-filled look on his face and John tore at his hair. He put the phone down and shook his head.
"No point. Straight to voice-mail."
Sam felt tears well up. A couple of hours ago Dean had been there, and he had been fine. Now, with only a day before Christmas, he was gone and Sam didn't know if he was okay. Sam didn't need any presents, Christmas trees or delicious food; he was happy enough to have Dean with him. Now he didn't even have that.
A car pulled up next to their hotel room and John turned to watch the door. A door slammed, another opened before slamming close a few moments later. John moved his hand to the gun and Sam took a step back. It could be Bobby… or someone else. A police car maybe, coming to tell them the grave news… Sam shook his head violently; that was crazy! Dean had nothing on him that would show where they lived, there was nothing!
The doorknob was turned and the door opened, a cold rush of air and snowflakes and Bobby backed into the room with…
"Dean!" both John and Sam shouted.
"John, first aid-kit," Bobby growled. "Sam, dry and clean clothes, blankets and fill some bottles up with warm water."
Dean's head lolled back and they saw his whiteness, the blood, the blue lips and both of them ran to obey, even John. Bobby carried the young man to the couch in the living room and put him down, pulling his boots off and wincing as Dean whimpered. He pulled socks, jeans and shirt off just as Sam came with blankets and clothes.
"Warm water," Bobby said. "Then come help me warm up his fingers and feet." The edges were slightly blue, sure sign of frostbite. "Now, Sam, hurry!"
The boy rushed away even as John appeared with their first aid-kit. He and Bobby began a gentle examination of the young man, and were happy that they didn't feel any broken ribs. He had some major bruising on his chest and for precaution the men decided to wrap the ribs.
Sam returned with three bottles, all filled with warm water and he looked at the two, lost. Bobby took them and said:
"Let's get him to a bed and warm him up."
Within minutes, they had Dean dressed, in bed with two warm bottles on both sides, one on his chest and one lying snugly against his feet to warm up his toes. Sam was working on the hands, massaging the fingertips and holding them between his warm palms. Dean was half-asleep, no doubt with the help of the healthy does of painkillers Bobby and John had given him. Sam was sniffing once in a while, but not speaking. From time to time he would raise his big brother's hand to his cheek, hold it gently while gently rubbing the warmth back. Neither man had the heart to complain.
After a while Dean's hand tightened around Sam's, and the teen looked up, startled.
"Dean?" he whispered.
"Hey," Dean managed, looking impossibly tired but still grinned. "What's up?"
Sam stayed still for a moment or two, lower lip quivered before it all broke for the sixteen-year old.
"You nearly died!" he wailed, arms around Dean's neck and almost sobbing into his shoulder, one of Dean's arms coming up to hold him across the shoulders. Squeezing one shoulder, Dean shushed him gently and closed his eyes.
"Nearly, but ain't dead right now am I?" he said, speaking softly. "Come on, stop your crying."
Bobby and John watched them both, wanting to comfort but had never really done it before. John also knew Dean was a hundred times better than him with that.
Sam sniffed and pulled back, wiping his eyes before looking at him.
"Ribs hurt a bit but in a few days I'll be as good as new," the older one said.
"C'mon, it's already happened and I ain't dead. I look like shit but not gonna die. So be a good little brother and fetch me something to drink, thirsty as hell."
Sam almost ran over the TV-table in his hurry to get to the kitchen. Dean chuckled, shook his head a bit and said:
"Kid's gonna trip over those feet one day…"
"How're you feeling?" John asked as he leaned over the couch to get a look at his eldest. Still a bit pale but no longer looking cold, the dried blood gone and a Dean-patented smirk on his lips.
"Flying on a cloud," Dean said, gave his dad thumbs-up.
"I don't doubt it, sport. Hang in there."
"Ain't going nowhere," Dean said. "Who's gonna watch you two if I go?"
"That's right, son," John said quietly. "That's right."
Sam came back with a couple of sodas and passed two to John who threw one to Bobby. The elder man grunted as thanks before taking a long swig, both men still watching the kids.
The younger one helped Dean to half-sit, half-slump against him and the older one sucked down the liquid greedily.
"Hey, take it easy man, you're gonna choke," Sam said and pulled the soda back.
"Sorry. Mmm, that was good." Dean smiled and closed his eyes drowsily. "'M tired…"
"Let's get you to bed then," John said. "Couch not the best option."
"And first thing tomorrow is you guys coming to my house," Bobby said. "And I won't accept any objections from anyone." He glared at John. "Are we clear?"
"I believe we are," John said, knowing better than to complain when the man had that look in his eyes. Bobby would probably drag him if he had to, or just take the kids.
Soon enough they had Dean tucked in and Sam wriggled his way underneath the covers, John not having the heart to say against that. In many ways, Sam loved Dean more than his own father, still saw Dean as his own father (the teen rather strongly protested to that but John could see it clear as day), and tonight had not been easy on the teen.
Dean seemed to sense that, he curled one arm around Sam's shoulder and let his little brother rest his head against his shoulder.
"It's alright," Dean mumbled. "Everythin' 's okay, little brother…"
And just like that, Sam was asleep. Dean chuckled as he felt the dead-weight underneath his arm and closed his own eyes before succumbing to sleep as well.
John walked back to where Bobby was.
"How bad should it have been?" he asked.
"Kid should've been dead," Bobby said. "It looked bad. The tire tracks told me the driver had been going pretty fast when he hit Dean. For the kid to have escaped with a couple of bruised ribs and scratches… it's a freaking miracle."
John looked back at the door that held his sons. Miracle seemed to follow Dean wherever he went. Either he was the one doing the miracles, or the miracles happened to him. Like clockwork. It was a bit scary from time to time, as some of the stuff was definitely not normal.
If someone would ask John about it, he wouldn't say it was about luck or coincidence or even miracles. He didn't believe in miracles, but he remembered something Mary used to say to him when Dean was younger, many of the times before Sam was even born. As a kid Dean got into accidents constantly but miraculously he emerged practically unharmed. She had said to John one day Dean had a guardian angel watching over him.
And considering how many miracles that has happened to Dean since, John was pretty much convinced it was true.
Also, counting how many times Dean threw himself in front of danger to protect Sam, John was also sure that guardian angel had a hell watching out for him.
Not that John complained or anything.
"Kid's a freaking Christmas miracle," Bobby muttered to his soda, and John smiled.
Yep. For today he might agree Dean was a Christmas miracle. And any other day? He was just a normal miracle.
Weird ending, pretty sappy I suppose but I kinda like it.
Dunno if I was made to write Christmas drabbles, but now I wrote one anyway.
Until another time,