Interlude: Nightmare

                                    

                                          
TW- ABUSE. If you need to skip this chapter, you won't miss anything. It's just explaining what happened the last time Dean saw John.
                          


                          
Sam had been sitting next to the hospital bed for fourteen hours and fifty seven minutes.
                          
     Dean was still unconscious. 
                          
     "He has three broken ribs, a broken nose, more bruises than we can count, and severe head trauma," the doctor had said. "The bruises and nose are easy to deal with. The ribs and head trauma less so; if he wakes suddenly he could jostle his ribs, which, worst case scenario, could puncture a lung. That's assuming he does wake up. He may go into a coma. We're not sure."
                          
     "Can't you do something?" Sam had pleaded.
                          
     "For now, we've done all we can. We'll continue monitoring him in the meantime and prepare for possible outcomes. Both good and bad." He looked grimly at Sam. "Son, I hope for both your sake and his that he pulls through this, but preparing for all outcomes means that you have to know he might not make it."
                          
     "Dean will make it," Sam insisted. 
                          
     The doctor nodded, indulging him, then left him alone with Dean and the machines surrounding the bed, flashing, clicking, and whirring. 
                          
     That was fourteen hours and forty three minutes ago. 
                          
     Now, Sam buried his head in his hands. "Dammit, Dean, you've got to wake up. Please." 
                          
     He glanced back towards the bed, where Dean remained bruised and bandaged, unmoving. 
                          
     This was all his fault, if only he'd done something sooner, if Sam had knocked him out before, or expected John to lunge-
                          
They had been watching Dr. Sexy MD when the knock came. Or rather, Dean had been watching Dr. Sexy while Sam rolled his eyes and researched plane ticket prices to California.

                          
     "I'll get it," Dean said, moving away from the TV. "It's a commercial break." He headed for the door, opened it, and stiffened like a soldier faced with their drill sergeant. 
                          
     "Who is it?" Sam wasn't really paying attention, he was more focused on takeoff times and connections.
                          
     There was no response. 
                          
     "Dean?" Sam got up and made for the door. 
                          
     Dad was the last person he was expecting. They hadn't seen him in months. Not since Sam had turned eighteen and was able to join Dean in Sioux Falls. 
                          
     Then, John had cared just enough to wear clean clothes, or at least clothes that looked clean enough. Now, his jacket was discolored and covered in old stains. His hair had never been neat, but now it was matted and messy.
                          
     John surveyed him. "Sam." His breath reeked of whisky. 
                          
     "Dad." 
                          
     "You two owe me," he said. "You owe me." 
                          
     Jesus, how drunk is he? 
                          
    Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
                          
    "For all those years under my roof," John said. "Letting you eat from my table, clothing you, wasting money on you-"
                          
     "You're drunk, Dad." 
                          
     "You owe me, loadsa money. Loadsa it, fer ever'thing." His words were beginning to slur.