John patched both of his boys up as best he could. Sam, having been used as bait, had been injured slightly worse than Dean. But the 15 and 11 year old were bandaged and sleeping, albeit poorly, on the motel bed in Indiana.
The ghost they'd tracked had caused some minor complications, including hitting Sam on the head, throwing him around the room, and lodging a good sized pencil in his side.
Minor.
As if.
The poor boy should be going to school and having fun with childhood.
Dean had merely cut open his arm. He was bruised but he would be fine.
Pulling out of the parking lot John ran over to the gas station to fill up his car. The Impala rumbled pleasantly as he loitered about, having a smoke, buying a pack of gum, and throwing away some trash on his dash.
In the darkness he suddenly has the strangest feeling that something was wrong.
Shaking it off, he capped off the tank and proceeded back towards the motel on the other side of town. He'd only been out for twenty minutes.
When he came in he immediately went to Sam, who was still and looked peaceful curled up to his brother.
But laying his hand on Sam's forehead his son didn't have a fever, but the skin was clammy and stiff.
Looking closer Sam wasn't moving at all. He was too still.
John froze in fear as he moved his forehead from his dead son, knowing this was his fault. He missed something patching him up, missed something examining Sam.
But as he lay growing colder Dean shifted and rolled into his brother, pulling him closer.
John swayed on his feet.
But he couldn't bear to wake Dean yet, couldn't bear to move from his spot to figure out how to fix this, some way to get him back.
John sat down on the bed, pulling Sam to him and held him, petting his soft hair, gasping for air. His own lungs were failing him.
Dean suddenly sat up, awoken from his light sleep.
"Dad?"
"Go back to sleep, Dean."
"What-?"
"We'll deal with this in the morning," but he spoke more to himself than Dean.
Pulling Sam out of the bed gently, he lay him on the couch. Pulling the thin sheet from his bed he covered his son.
Curling up, cold and miserable in a ball, John didn't sleep.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
What's dead should stay dead.
But Sammy should not.
YOU ARE READING
Sam and Dean () Supernatural One Shots
FanfictionJust some shitty one-shots that are all Whump or Hurt/comfort. No one reads them they just exist because I was full of SPN angst. Check out my other books, including my Merlin book, my Sherlock books, my Marvel books, and my Hamilton books. Thanks...
