Summary. . . . . . . . . . . The risks are high, but they have to be taken, when an accident happens whilst an injured John and Sam are left home alone.
Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Still belong to, and are the creation of the genius that is Kripke, like my library books I'm just loaning them.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Thank you so much to everyone who has taken time out to read this story so far, and to those who have reviewed or added to favorites, I very much appreciate it. Here's chapter 3, will catch you at the end. Peanut x
Huge thanks to Vonnie for the tip on how to post this, seeing as though ff wasn't allowing me to do so. I saw your review, Vonnie, took your advice and voila!
Everything hurt; the pain vibrating about his body so that it seemed like nothing could escape it wrath. He tried to move, tried to turn over to try and find a place on the unforgiving floor that was less harsh, and more comfortable; but even the smallest of movements seemed to ignite the agony, sending wave after wave of uncontrollable pain rushing through every nerve and sinew, igniting a throbbing in his head that in turn started a churning within his stomach. Bile rose quickly, burning at his throat. He tried once again to turn, but his limbs felt like lead, and his muscles like jelly; panic overtook him and he started to choke.
"Dean! Dean!" He barely even registered the voice that worriedly called his name, or the gentle hands that grabbed him, turning him tenderly over so that the vile mess had somewhere to escape to. "Come on son, don't you do this to me, look at me Dean. I promised John I'd bring ya back safe. Dean!" The concerned voice asked again, this time the words registering, a picture of the voices owner also flashing within his mind. Hell if Bobby was that worried, he must be messed up, something the pain he was feeling was telling him was true.
He managed, with some difficulty, to open his eyes; blurry images swaying and dancing before him. He blinked heavily a couple of times before trying once more to focus on the older hunters features, licked at his dry and foul tasting lips before trying to speak. "What happened? Where are we?"
"The damn banshee got the drop on you, threw you damn near into the next county, you're just damn lucky you landed where you did. I knew I should have insisted you stay back at the house, I knew your mind wasn't completely on the job. You were stupid Dean, careless and stupid. Come on; let's get you up and out of here."
Dean pulled back on Bobby's arm as the older hunter tried to pull him up, something was niggling at his mind. "Where's Sam, Bobby? Is Sam alright?"
Bobby looked into the worried eyes of the younger man, his concerns rising that he had missed something in his original assessment; he would have to get Jackson to look him over more thoroughly once he came back from burning the banshee's corpse. Keeping back the extent of Sam's injuries, not wanting the older Brother to panic and hurt himself even more, he replied. "Sam's waiting back at the house Dean, don't you remember? Sam stayed at home with your Dad. He's fine."
"No he's not. Something's wrong. I can feel it." Dean shouted out, clumsily trying to clamber to his feet at the same time.
"Okay, okay. Listen and calm down. Sam will be okay, he got hurt on the last hunt, do you remember?"
Dean thought for a minute, tried to make sense of the confusion in his mind, tried to remember; a part of him wishing that he didn't remember when those screams and cries echoed throughout his head once more; but that wasn't it, that wasn't what was worrying him, something else was wrong, something else had happened. "Bobby pass me the radio, I need to call home, something's wrong."
"Dean, they'll be fine. You hit your head pretty hard, you're just confused." Bobby replied.
"Bobby, please. Something is wrong, I can feel it."
Bobby's own unease was beginning to climb. He had witnessed in the past the uncanny bond both Brother's seemed to have, if Dean was worried, maybe he should be too. "Okay." He said as he passed the CB over. "Give them a call."
He ignored Jackson as he returned, and watched as Dean tried over and over to get John to respond, his unease turning into full blown panic when they received nothing in return, only static.
"We gotta go Bobby, something is wrong. Hell, you know as well as I do, even drunk my Dad would answer. We gotta go."
"Dean, even speeding we're a good three hours away."
"Well, we better not waste any more time sitting around here then. Help me up."
His ears screeched and crackled, an annoying sound that clawed its way through his unconsciousness and started to rip him from the darkness. As awareness came more to him, he started to realize that the sound wasn't coming from inside his ears, but from somewhere above him. Forcing his eyes open, he slammed them shut again just as quickly as the light, even though dim, pierced his eyeballs and sparked an agony behind them that battered his brain and turned his stomach. He breathed slowly and deeply to quell the rolling in his stomach, before trying to open them once again to look around him and find out what was creating that noise, concern crashed over him once knowledge of what it was hit him, the radio.
He started to rise, turning his body so that he could climb to his knees, not even thinking about why he was sprawled upon on the floor, or injuries, until broken bones ground across each other and a savage grunt of agony escaped from his mouth. His elbows buckled, the bile he had been quelling rose once more, and there was little he could do to stop his descent to the floor once more, his head bouncing as it landed, the gash that had been closing, reopening and oozing crimson, the blood seeping into the concrete.
The questions rose then. What the hell? Why was he hurting so much? What had caused this? Was he still in danger? Were his boys? Where was he? It was the radio, crackling into life once again, and Dean's faint voice that reminded him. The botched hunt, Sam hurt, coming home, Sam screaming in pain, Jackson, Sam whimpering and calling his name, Bobby and Dean leaving to clean up, Sam waking up troubled by the storm, himself needing a boost to even go in and comfort him, the empty bottle, the full one downstairs, the fall. Oh crap! How could he have been so stupid, so selfish? His baby boy was seriously hurt upstairs, alone and needing him, but what was he concerned about? Himself, always himself.
Oh he tried he really did, it had been easy with Dean but Sam, Sam was another story, he questioned everything, queried every order, demanded answers, and John didn't know how to handle that. He loved his both son's equally and without question. He did his best every single day to ensure they stayed safe and alive in the unfortunate world they had been brought up in. Gave them orders, trained them well, and demanded their best back in return. Questioning his orders was, in his opinion a waste of time, and not a way to show him you were giving back your best. Sure he was proud of Sam, proud of the knowledge he retained, proud of his grades, but in their world grades meant nothing, and he only wished his son would see that before something bad happened, before someone got hurt, or even worse killed.
Hurt! Crap Sam was hurt, he was suffering upstairs and what was he doing? Criticizing his youngest for having dreams. He had to get back up there, he had to give his son the comfort he needed. He started the breathing exercises he had taught his sons only last week, it didn't take away the agony, but he managed to control it enough to push it back a notch. He turned again and started once more to try and clamber to his feet, stopping as a smell hit his senses, and a sudden loud thud echoed from above; a smell of smoke, and a loud thud that sounded like a body hitting the floor. "Sam! SAMMY!" Oh God, he had to get up there. In his haste he pushed too hard, his growl of pain heard even above the thunder that was drifting off in the distance.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! I hope that you enjoyed, will be back soon with more. Peanut x