Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Sam, if I have to tell you to go to bed one more time, I’m going to tie you to it.”

Sam groaned in frustration, and Dean wasn’t even sure who it was directed at: Dean, their father, or Sam himself.

“Sam, Dad knows what he’s doing,” Dean said again, not sure how to get his message through the wall of anxiety that Sam had built up in his head. It’s not that Dean didn’t have a healthy respect for Sam’s instincts, but the ear infection and fever the kid had been trying to fight off for the last few days made Dean less trusting in those instincts, especially since Sam had yet to actually articulate his reason for concern.

“Things just aren’t adding up. Dad might be going after something different than he’s expecting.” Sam’s repetitive insistence that Dad was in danger (well, at least a different danger than he was expecting to be in) was making Dean want to give in to his own groan of frustration. He didn’t need the extra anxiety himself, with not being there to back his dad up the way he felt like he should.

Between the nature of what their dad was hunting — a spirit of some kind that seemed to target kids around Sam’s age — and Sam cycling between maybe-the-antibiotics-are-finally-working and any-worse-and-we’re-risking-a-hospital, Dean agreed with his dad that it was best that Sam stayed behind, and Dean stayed with Sam.

That didn’t mean that Dean wasn’t getting tired of playing nursemaid to an increasingly irritable thirteen year old, who hated being sick and was obsessed with trying to convince Dean that there was something wrong with their Dad’s understanding of the spirit he was hunting.

“Anytime you want to come up with some actual proof, that would really help your case here, Sammy. Hell, I’ll take circumstantial evidence at this point. But Sam, even if you hand me a freaking photograph of the monster you’re convinced it is, unless you have some magic way of getting that information to Dad, there’s nothing we can do about it. He’s a day’s drive away, and he’s not answering his phone. If he calls, I promise I will tell him what you’ve told me, but until then you need to rest and stop stressing us both out or I swear to God I will sit on you and pour enough cough syrup down your throat to knock you out for a week!” Dean didn’t realize his voice had reached shouting level until he stopped, Sam blinking owlishly at him, possibly on the verge of tears.

Damn, his fever must be spiking again, otherwise Sam would practically be spitting fire back at him.

Dean felt bad for practically screaming at the kid and continued in a gentler tone. “Seriously, you need to sleep. You know Dad can handle a curveball or two thrown his way, even in the middle of a hunt. He’ll be ok. But we won’t be if he gets back and finds out I’ve been letting you stay up all night doing research while your brain is cooking in its own juices.” Sam made a face at that imagery and allowed himself to be steered towards his bed. “I’m going to go out to the store and grab some more of the chicken noodle soup and ginger ale you’ve been living off of. More incentive to get better. I’ll let you have real food as soon as you can keep your fever down for at least 12 hours.”

Dean put a grumbling Sam to bed, dosed him with Tylenol, and headed out. The store wasn’t too far away, which was a blessing because Dean had to walk. His dad had taken the Impala since the truck was at Bobby’s getting fixed. Dean hated to leave Sam for very long while the kid was practically defenseless, but he hadn’t rationed for four days of sick little brother.

He was halfway home, plastic shopping bags in hand, when someone called his name. There was no mistaking that voice. John Winchester stepped out of the trees on the side of the road.

“Dad? What are you doing here? What happened with the hunt?” Alarm bells were going off in Dean’s head. Why would his dad be hanging out in the middle of the woods and not go to the cabin? He backed up a step as John stepped forward, Dean's hand going for the gun tucked into the back of his waistband.

John smiled at him, and stayed where he was, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm.

“That’s exactly right, Dean, always be on your guard. I’m still on the hunt. The creature I’ve been tracking is on the move and headed in this direction. I came to get your help.”

Dean’s brain seemed to stutter for a moment, and he stared warily at John as his dad took a step closer. “How did you know where to find me? Why not just wait at the cabin?”

“There’s not a moment to lose, Dean. I can’t do this alone, we need to work together. Come with me.”

Dean found himself taking a step forward and John smiled again. “Dean, with your help I think we can end this quickly. You’re growing into one of the best hunters I know. Come with me and we can take care of this together.”

Dean’s heart swelled with pride at his father’s words, and all thoughts of caution slipped away. “What’s the plan? What exactly are we hunting, anyway? Normal spirits don’t travel very far.” He took another step forward, trying to recall the few details John mentioned about the killings before he left earlier that week. Suddenly the conversation from an hour ago came back to him. “Dad, Sam said that there’s something bothering him about this hunt. I know his brain’s a little wonky right now, but he’s usually right about these things.”

“Let’s walk while we talk. Tell me what you think. I trust your hunting instincts, and Sam’s, but we need to keep moving if we want to kill it before it claims it’s next victim.” John turned and started walking back into the woods. Dean started to follow him, trying to suppress a smile at his dad’s praise, when he stopped short, the rest of the words making it past the overwhelming pride. There were only two things he really wanted to accomplish in this life, to make his father proud and to keep his brother safe.

“Dad, if this thing’s going after teenagers, we have to get Sammy safe first.”

“We don’t have time for that, I don’t want to lose it. Now that you’re here with me, it’ll be dead in no time. Won’t even know what hit it.”

Dean hesitated, his pride at his dad’s words fighting with his worry over Sam. “He’s still really sick. I don’t think he’d be capable of fighting it off. It won’t take long.”

John frowned impatiently. Any minute now John was going to turn it into an order, and Dean’s stomach started twisting in anxiety, not even sure himself which order would win out, the order to obey his father immediately, or the oldest order he based most of his life around: take care of Sammy.

“Dean, it’s too strong for me to take on alone. I need you, son.” Dean beamed at John’s words. “Come with me, now.”

Urgency to obey mixed with eagerness to continue to make his father proud. He took another step towards his dad, who then took a few steps back towards the woods. John’s words were echoing in Dean’s head, drowning out his own thoughts. I need you son. Dean took another step forward. it’s too strong for me to take on alone. Dean’s foot stuttered, not quite a full step. If it was too strong for John Winchester, it would definitely be too strong for a bean pole of a thirteen year old who’d been too sick to feed himself a full bowl of soup just that afternoon.

Dean felt physical pain at the thought of disappointing his dad, but he knew which order he had to follow.

“Dad, we have to go back for Sam. We can leave him somewhere populated. We can drop him off at the ER, and he can hang out in the waiting room. He’ll blend right in.” Dean pleaded his case, hoping John would see the necessity of the delay. John had raised them to take care of themselves against all sorts of monsters, but he hadn’t been around to know how sick Sam still was, and how much strength it had taken out of the kid. Dean turned his next step forward into a stumbled change of direction and headed back down the road at a near jog. Now that he had decided, he needed to get back immediately.

“Dean!” He heard John yell his name, but he didn’t slow down. After a few seconds he heard his dad following him down the road.

When they got to the cabin, Dean drew up short. “Where’s the car?” He turned back to John, who waved vaguely in the opposite direction of where they’d just come from.

“Not too far down the road, pulled off into the woods. I didn’t want to lead the spirit to the cabin. Go get Sam and we’ll head out.”

Dean nodded and hurried into the cabin. “Sam!” he shouted, even though there was no way that Sam hadn’t heard him bust in. He was feeling almost manic with the need to get back to John

Sam blinked at him from the couch, surrounded by books and newspaper clippings, obviously doing exactly what Dean had told him not to.

“Dean, I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and —”

Dean cut off Sam’s excuses. “Get up, get your shoes on, we gotta go. Dad’s waiting for us outside.”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Sam! There’s no time, he’s waiting, we have to go!” An edge of desperation was creeping into Dean’s voice. He could feel it, and knew it would scare Sam, but he couldn’t help it. Didn’t Sam understand? He needed to get back out there and help Dad.

“Dean, I don’t understand. Are we moving again? Did something happen?”

“Sammy, you need to get on your feet and out to the car! Dad needs my help on the hunt and I have to help him, Sam, I have to! Hurry!” Panic was starting to set in as Sam stared at him for a moment. Dean found himself pacing with agitated steps in the little bit of space between Sam and the door.

“Ok, Dean. Let me grab my medicine. I’ll be right there.” Sam stepped into the bedroom, and Dean started wringing his hands. They needed to go, they needed to go, they needed to go —

As soon as Sam stepped back out, with a jacket on over his pajamas and shoes on his feet, Dean flung himself at the door, practically tripping over his own feet to get back outside. His breath stopped when he didn’t immediately see John, and then he heard his name called again. He whirled around to see John standing near the tree line at the edge of the clearing the cabin sat in.

“Dad! We’re ready!” Dean started to hurry towards John, but Sam stumbled behind him and all but fell onto Dean’s back, pulling him up short. He turned to steady Sam, who held Dean’s arm and stared blearily at their dad.

“Dad,” Sam mumbled, practically wilting in Dean’s arms. “Dad, I forgot to tell you, I made the soccer team at school.”

Something was really wrong here. Sam hadn’t been this out of it a minute ago. Dean tried to assess Sam’s condition, even as he fought to get a better grip on Sam to physically haul him towards John. He looked to his father, worried that John would be upset with this further delay, that Dean might be disappointing him by not having a better handle on Sam’s ability to move forward.

John was looking at Sam, giving him the same proud smile he’d directed at Dean earlier. “That’s awesome, Sam. I’m real proud of you. You worked hard for that.”

Suddenly Sam straightened, pulling himself out of Dean’s arms. Dean stumbled to his knees, as the resistance to his forward momentum was removed. He got back to his feet just as Sam raised a gun — Dean’s gun — and fired a single shot into John’s forehead.

Horror and shock filled Dean as John slumped to the ground, obviously dead. And then, between one heartbeat and the next, he knew that the body on the ground wasn’t John.

“I figured out what was throwing me off about Dad’s hunt. There were two different things killing people in the area. I’m pretty sure Dad was right about the spirit he’s after.” Sam stared at the body blankly for a moment, his body starting to wilt, exhaustion evident now that the danger was past. He clumsily tucked the gun back into Dean’s waistband, then turned back towards the cabin. “I’m going to bed now. Thanks for getting more soup.”