A/N: Hey ya there, folks!
Yeah, I know, I should work on 'Swallow The Knife', but this here started to develop while I was having three looooooooong and boring lessons of anatomy. God, I hate to learn all those friggin' muscles. .
Anyways, this story is a one-shot for now, but I got some ideas, so let me know if I should continue. And I'm also open for other ideas. ;)
For everybody out there who knows me already, I have this bad, bad habit to need some time to update my stories, so my biggest apologize for all the waiting that I may cause you. ^^ I'm really working on it. But my life is kinda crazy these days…. *sighs*
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them. *sighs sadly* But hey, I can still dream! ^^
Have fun reading and please let me know what you think about it! *puppy dog eyes*
Somewhere In Between
Start to breathe and fake a smile
It's all the same after a while
I know, that you are tired
Carrying the ones you lost
A picture frame with all the thoughts
I know, you hold inside
Come back Down – Lifehouse
It felt like his fever was spiking again. He was on fire.
But that didn't matter at that moment.
He had to find Sam. Had to reach him before it would be too late.
Dean heard the creature crashing through the undergrowth.
He willed his legs to move faster but everything was spinning sickly around him.
He saw his little brother a few hundred feet in front of him. But everything seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges. He blinked furiously to clear his vision.
"Sam.", Dean screamed, hoped to warn his brother in time. He heard the creature again.
But his warning came too late. The creature jumped Sam from behind.
The agonized screams of his baby brother echoed through the darkening woods.
Dean wanted to run to him – to help his brother. But his legs betrayed him. His knees started to buckle while he had to watch how the creature sliced through Sam's flesh. Tore deep gashes into the skin. A slight breeze brought the metallic smell of blood to him.
"Sammy.", he screamed desperately.
_______
"Dean! Damnit, wake up!" John shook his son roughly but Dean didn't seem to hear him. His tossing und turning increased even more.
"Sammy.", he mumbled panicked. His head rolled from one side to the other.
John placed a hand on Dean's forehead, cursing at the amount of heat that radiated off of him. Fuck, his fever had climbed again. But at least the desperate screams had faded to incoherent mumblings again.
He wasn't sure how to explain some concerned neighbours that his son apparently had developed a nasty infection, a result of a hunt for a werewolf and now running a high fever.
Well, maybe not a good idea to get attention like this form civilians.
"Dean! Wake up, that's an order!" He hated to use this harsh tone right now but he had to rouse him. This seemed to be a hell of a nightmare.
A twinge of sadness washed over him as he saw the immediate reaction his voice coursed – Dean's eyes started to flutter. Even semi-conscious he struggled to obey him.
John could clearly hear Bobby's heated words inside his head again. It was one of their last fights before he broke every tie to the other hunter.
"God damnit, John, your sons aren't any kind of soldiers and you're not their sergeant or whatever you think, or maybe wish you are. They're your sons, for crying out loud. Treat them like that."
"I'm training them so that they'll be able to survive out there. So don't you dare telling me what I should or should not do! I know what I'm doing is the right thing!"
"They sure as hell need their father and not a person who tries to create some good soldiers who'll follow your orders blindly." Bobby spat angrily.
"Fuck you, Bobby. I don't have to explain anything to you. I'm their father, not you, you get that?!"
"Yeah, you're their father, so behave yourself like that."
John's fist collided smoothly with Bobby's yaw. The pain that coursed through his knuckles was a welcomed distraction…
It wasn't long after that fight, that Sam finally revealed his already worked out plans about leaving his family. Running away from this life, away to Stanford and normality.
John's teeth clenched hard at this thought. Anger, hurt and betrayal fought for the upper hand inside of him. Though most of the time it was anger that would win in the end.
He shook his head slightly and concentrated on Dean again.
Fever bright eyes blinked slowly open and stared blankly up and through him.
"Hey buddy you with me?" John asked gently. He wasn't used to that anymore. Dean was never sick. Hurt, yeah, but sick because of a stupid injury not threaten rightly…
Dean blinked again. Glassy eyes eventually focused on John. Urgency flickered inside of them.
"Dad… where's Sam? Where's… He's in danger! We hafta…" Dean struggled to sit up, but white-hot pain ripped through his side when the movement pulled at the stitches.
"Easy there." John guided his son again in a lying position. "Sam's just fine.", he assured.
"Where's he?", Dean's voice was weak and pained. His glassy eyes darted searchingly through the room but couldn't find what he was looking for.
John eyed him carefully, concern evident on his face.
"Dean, he's at Stanford, you know that. He's fine." He squeezed his son's shoulder reassuringly
"No, Dad, he's… he's not…" Dean tried to sit up again but John put a restraining hand on his chest, felt the fast heartbeat underneath his palm.
"Don't move, except you want to pull your stitches. And I dare you to do that."
Dean still fought to get his Dad to listen to him but his lids started to drop of their own accord. He was so tired. Everything hurt and he was so damn hot.
"Sleep." John said and brushed some sweat soaked stands from Dean's forehead. The gesture felt familiar and right.
"Dad, please. Sammy's in danger. We hafta…" Dean looked pleading up to his Dad. He didn't care that he had to look and sound pathetic in front of his Dad right now. But his brother was in danger, that was all what mattered to him!
John exhaled softly.
"Okay, listen, you'll keep on sleeping and I make sure that Sammy's alright, okay?" It were just words. John never intended to call his youngest.
Dean nodded slightly. His eyes were so full of fear and trust, it made John cringe.
The younger hunter's last remains of strength vanished and his eyes finally closed shut and stayed that way.
John stood beside his son's bed for a moment, watching Dean sleep.
Many things had changed since Sam left. Hell, next week it would be almost a year.
Dean wasn't the same since that final fight had parted the family.
He was more closed up than ever and the new found recklessness Dean displayed during hunts and also concerning his own health kept John still worried and furious all at once.
John suppressed the new wave of anger that slowly blossomed inside his chest.
Not now. He would tear Dean a new one after he got him back on his feet.
John grabbed the nearly dry washcloth that had slipped from Dean's forehead a while ago and went into the bathroom.
He re-wetted the cloth.
Damnit. He should have seen this coming. He cursed under his breath.
This was just so typical for Dean lately. The werewolf that they were hunting three nights ago had injured him. Pretty good to be honest. But apparently this stubborn kid was convinced that he could deal with it on his own and without his old man knowing anything about it.
It was only as Dean collapsed a few hours ago, that John knew that something was definitely not right.
The infection had worsened since then and he was actually thinking about taking him to a hospital.
He would wait a few more hours, see if he couldn't treat this damn infection on his own. To go to a hospital was always a high risk that would end with many nasty questions.
He went back to his son who had fallen into a restless slumber again.
Dean looked awful. His skin looked almost translucent and the feverish flush stand in a stark contrast to it. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and temples.
He placed the cloth back on Dean's hot brow.
A light twinge of guilt flashed through his mind. He should have noticed the signs. He should have…
Dean's words echoed inside his head.
"Dad, please. Sammy's in danger. We hafta…"
John was sure that Dean's words were just some fever induced ramblings but that still couldn't quite suffocate the gnawing concern inside his gut.
He pushed the 'what if's' in a far corner of his mind and looked down at his son.
Dean's eyes moved rapidly under closed lids. He was talking but John couldn't make out any words.
Sam is okay. It was just a fever induced nightmare, John assured himself. Nothing more…
______
Like it? Don't like it? Totally waste of time? Let me know.
And thanks for reading! ^^