Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean had to make more than a twinkie run that day.

It occurred to them, embarrassingly late, that Sam had no clothes. The hospital had rightfully disposed of the rags Sam had been wearing for months, and even if Dean hadn't stored everything from Sam's apartment at Bobby's, none of his old clothes would fit at the present moment.

Unfortunately due to Sam's size and the fact his belly was still going to grow, Dean had to patch together things from a few secondhand shops to get him anything he could wear. It reminded Dean so much of when Sam's growth went into hyperdrive after he turned sixteen. Dean was half convinced he'd been bitten by a radioactive giant.

After he had enough clothes and made a stop at a Walmart for essentials that you didn't want to buy second hand – or couldn't buy second hand, Dean made his way to a laundromat. They had learned the hard way of how important it was to wash everything you buy second hand – twice if possible. Dean never thought he would be so happy for a ringworm infection.

As Dean was setting the washers up to go through another cycle, his phone rang. He made sure everything was running before he looked at the contact on the small outer screen.

BOBBY flashed in large block letters.

Dean looked at his watch when he saw the contact. It had been nearly eight hours since he called Bobby in a panic on the road. After he had calmed down enough to safely drive, he promised to call Bobby with any updates. Between taking care of Sam and the hour of sleep he squeezed in, Dean simply forgot. He felt awful.

Of course, Bobby wasn't upset. Worried for them both, but nowhere close to upset. As a teenager, Dean had pissed that man off enough times to know what it sounded like when he was upset.

"Sorry, I should have called –"

"Don't apologize, kid. I'm just glad ya answered." Bobby cut off Dean. His rough but familiar voice was everything Dean needed to hear right now. "How's Sam? Is your old man there?"

Dean sank into a bench behind him. The question had blown the air from his lungs. He wasn't sure how to explain anything that was happening. He didn't even know how Bobby was taking the news that Sam was pregnant and could actually get pregnant now. They only spoke for twenty minutes around five in the morning, and most of that was spent on calming Dean down.

"Did something happen?" Bobby was forcing his voice to be level for Dean's sake, but the worry leaked through.

Dean forced himself to take a breath and said, "Sam's fine. Well, as fine as anyone can expect. Dad's ..."

The image of Sam shot in the head flashed through Dean's mind. Those sweet hazel eyes glazed over and empty.

A groan of exhaustion from Bobby's end brought Dean back to the present and the reality where his brother was alive and safe.

"What did John do now?" Bobby asked.

There were two people who never let John Winchester burn ties with them. Bobby Singer and Jim Murphy. Both were more concerned with the boys themselves than anything John ever did. Sam had even said once that Bobby was more their father than John could ever hope to be. Dean was ashamed that he punched Sam for that remark, because now he was confronted with just how true it was.

"He was going to kill Sam. Or at the very least the baby. He actually had a gun to Sam's head." Dean could feel the words: I wasn't there, but he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud. Like he was ashamed of not driving five hundred and twenty miles any faster.

"Christ," Bobby muttered. "But Sam's ok?"

"This Bliss bastard cracked his gord and Sam apparently fell on a glass table. Cut his hand and everything. But he's fine. No concussion or anything. The baby is healthy." Dean shrugged even though Bobby couldn't see him. "He's craving junk food if you can believe it."

Bobby couldn't help a bark of laughter.

"I've gotta say, he's holding together better than I would be." Dean continued. "Waking up like that – and then have this little person growing inside of you. I don't know how women do that when they want it. Freaking Ridley Scott nonsense."

"I'm sure Sam is appreciating the support." Dean could see Bobby's unamused face from his tone alone. "When's he getting out?"

"When I was there, he was pushing for this afternoon." Dean tried to hide the amusement from his voice. "He's getting a little antsy."

Bobby made a small grunt of agreement. "You two have never done well with doctors. Besides, I think the kid might be feeling a little trapped right now."

The words hit Dean like a ton of bricks. He almost felt stupid for not realizing it himself.

"Listen, the second he's out, I want you two to get your tails here." Bobby said firmly. He was not arguing on this. "Sam's gonna need a lot of care and support for awhile. Regardless what he does with the kid, everything's gonna change for him – or continue to change, I guess."

"Bobby, I was already planning on dragging him up there. Kicking and screaming if I have to. Glad you're on board." Dean took a deep breath as though a load was taken off his shoulders.

"I don't care what you say, Dean. This is your home. Yours and Sam's. It always has been." Bobby continued to use the same firm tone he always used when he wanted Dean to really hear what he was saying. A father's tone. Warm and comforting, but also commanding attention. "There is nothing you or Sam could do that would make me even consider turning you away. Hear me?"

Dean could see Bobby punctuating his point with deliberate taps on his desk. He didn't even know if Bobby was in his office. It didn't matter, really. It was just the image that came to mind whenever Bobby spoke like this.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean cleared his throat to keep himself from crying. "Thank you – seriously, for everything. I'll uh ... I'll let you know when Sam gets out. We'll probably stay here overnight, so expect us sometime Thursday."

"Don't make me track you down for updates." Bobby said sternly.

They prolonged the goodbye with various promises like for Dean to look out for Sam and for Bobby to make that chicken Sam always loved. Neither seeming to want to hang up first.

When Dean finally did hang up, he was left with a huge weight on his shoulders. One Bobby couldn't relieve.

The why at the center of all of this was gnawing at the back of his mind, and there was only one place he could start. The only person who seemed like he had any clue what was going on.

Sam would kill him for going to that man for anything after the shit he pulled that morning, but Dean couldn't see any other options. He would do anything to keep Sam safe. Even give Sam reason to never speak to him.

Six months after Sam left for school, Dean was held up with his father in a motel in south Florida. They had a nasty run in with some witches the week before, and Dean needed time to heal his broken ribs. 

John wasn't taking Sam leaving too well. They had been bouncing from hunt to hunt for weeks on end with no breaks. Staying still, even for his son's sake, had been too much it seemed. 

When his father left that Friday afternoon, Dean had been half convinced it was for good. The fact that his father left the Impala and her keys behind didn't help. 

With no ability to track his father down at that moment, Dean ended up watching a John Wayne western with what was left of the whiskey. He was actively imagining driving to California and finding Sam when he heard a horn outside the room window. 

Even in pain and buzzed, Dean had the wherewithal to get his gun and approach the door with caution. 

He was meet with a monster of a truck. Truckzilla, Dean ended up calling it – much to the annoyance of his father. That was the same truck Dean was standing in front of now. 

"Hey gorgeous," he sighed with a painful nostalgia. "Miss me?"

After nearly four years, Dean knew this truck as well as his own Baby, and he knew where his father kept everything. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. 

"So the cops are probably gonna connect you to the old man." Dean spoke as though the truck had consciousness as he retrieved a leather bound journal from the glove compartment. "That means you're going to a lot somewhere. Good thing is, they don't have snow in Utah." He locked the door again and stepped back. "Someone's gonna buy you again. Maybe for long hunting trips. Real hunting – like deer and shit. You'll love it." He gave the car a pat before putting the journal in the bag with Sam's cloths. "Be good." 

Dean made his way towards the hospital, only taking a quick glance back at the truck. There was a feeling in his chest. A tightness. Like grief. 

Dean shook it off. He wasn't ready to even think about these feelings.

Nothing was guaranteed and nothing lasted. It was a lesson Dean Winchester learned very early in life. This was just another chapter Dean had to close. 

It took a bit of digging and some shameless flirting, but Dean found that the operating room and recovery room was on the second floor of the hospital. 

From what Dean could find, his father was being kept in a room of his own away from other patients and the usual recovery room. It made since. Maniacs that wave guns around hospitals aren't the kind of people you want to unleash on the public. Particularly the sick and vulnerable.

It didn't seem this particular officer got the memo that he had a highly trained marine and efficient killer under his watch. He was sleeping – literally snoring. 

Dean had a passing thought of what would have happened to Sam if a bozo like this was charged with his safety. Blank hazel eyes flashed in Dean's vision again, and he had to will the image away. 

When Dean was able to slip into the room, his father was asleep. Logically, Dean knew it was the drugs, but it still made his blood boil.

He could only remember two times he'd been this angry at his father, and each time seemed to be when John hurt Sam or pushed Sam too far. 

If there weren't police and cameras everywhere, Dean could see himself ending his father right here and now. The thought scared Dean, but his face didn't betray his turmoil with his own violence and anger. He simply looked like a well disciplined man on a mission.

Dean kicked the bed which jolted John awake. His pupils were dilated, but he seemed to have his wits about him. 

"How'd you get in here?" John demanded.

"Chief Wiggum out there fell asleep at his post." Dean said as he set the bag with Sam's cloths down. 

They were silent. Like a stand off. Neither wanted to be the one to break the tension.

Dean's glance fell to his father's left wrist that was cuffed to the bed. "They arrest you? Officially, I mean."

"A couple hours after I woke up, they read me my rights." John said. 

"I'm going to assume you have a plan, and I'm going to leave you to wherever mess you're making." Dean said carefully. "I'm here for Sam." 

"So was I." John said with the same pompous tone that always set Dean off. "I don't want to kill him, but I can't let that thing out."

"You held a gun to his head, you don't get to act like you're oh-so concerned with his well-being." Dean was forcing himself to stay calm. He didn't need someone finding him in here. "Let's just be honest here. I don't think you and I have been particularly good in that department. You've done some pretty awful shit. No one's gonna argue that, I think. But never have I ever thought for a second that you'd hurt me or Sam. If I did, even for a second, I would have booked it with the kid. You would never found us, and you know that."

John kept the same flat, calm expression he had when Dean tried to argue that Sam was more important than any hunt before he left last week. His father was usually just as hot blooded as Dean and Sam were – especially when they clashed. But now, it was like screaming at a wall. 

Dean rubbed his face. "Fine – fuck it. What are you talking about? What thing? What do you know? What do you think is going on?"

"Have the cops searched my truck?" John asked in that same tone that made Dean so uneasy when he left. 

"What? Your truck? What are –" Dean stopped him and took a breath. "The journal?" 

"Everything's in there." John said. "When you see, you'll understand." 

Dean threw his arms in the air. "That's where we're gonna leave it? Huh? A man had to shoot you to keep you from killing Sam, and you're not even gonna try to explain yourself?" 

"It's tied to everything, Dean. Everything we worked for." John tried to explain. "You won't believe me if I told you."

Dean felt like he was about to scream. He took a moment to compose himself.

"I wouldn't believe you? Me?" Dean demanded. "My mother was burned to death by a demon on the ceiling of my brother's nursery. I don't remember a time when I didn't know about the things in the dark. You made me put down a god damn hag when I was twelve. I don't know how many things I've killed in the last fourteen years. Things that most people's worst nightmares can imagine. Thing that look and talk like a person ..."

Dean turned away. He didn't know if he'd start screaming or destroying the room, but he knew looking at his father would set him off. 

"Look," Dean finally said, "either respect me as your son, or I'm out. I'm not playing these games. Not this time."

John was silent for a long time. Dean was about ready to leave when his father finally spoke. 

"It's a nephilim."

Dean turned back around slowly. He wasn't sure what his father's angle was, but he was convinced it wasn't altruistic.

"The thing inside Sam, it's a nephilim." John clarified. "The hybrid of an angel and a human. Usually a fallen angel, but the lore is ... limited."

Dean blinked a few times, trying to process what his father told him. "I'm sorry, did you just say an angel? Like harps and wings?" He scoffed when his father just sat there like it wasn't absolutely insane. "Dad, there are no angels."

"But there are demons?" John asked, simply. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. 

"I know with what we're dealing with." John said when Dean stopped gasping like a fish. "This isn't just some godforsaken hybrid. This is the spawn of the devil himself. The Antichrist."

Dean could feel his heart pick up. He thought he was going to be sick. He wasn't sure how to process any of this information, or even if he believed it. 

"We can't let it be born Dean." John said firmly. "We have to stop it before it begins."

Suddenly everything slow down and the words became clear. It was like a lifetime of trauma just burst past the flood gates, but at th same time, it was like seeing the world for the first time. Everything made sense, and his priority was what it always had been.

With a blank face and a level monotone, Dean said, "there's no we. Not anymore."