Post by Silwyna on May 3, 2009 11:07:07 GMT 1
Thanks to Yor and Kaz for beta'ing! And thanks for reading
Chapter 5
“Read me a book, Daddy.”
With a sigh, John looked up from his journal to his six year old son standing before him. “Why don’t you ask Dean, Sammy?”
“Dean’s asleep, Dad. Pleeeeaaase.”
Sam looked at him with his puppy dog eyes and John knew he couldn’t deny him. Research would have to wait another minute or two. “Just one chapter.”
“Thanks, Daddy!” Sam rejoiced and climbed up on this father’s lap. With a smile, he handed his book to his father.
John didn’t look at the title; Sam only owned three different books and by now John knew all of them word for word. Suppressing another sigh, he opened the book. As soon as he read the first page, saw the pictures on it, his blood froze. Instead of the familiar pictures and text he knew so well, he saw illustrations of men being slaughtered in the most brutal way. The text was in a foreign language John had never seen before. Dried blood was smeared on the pages. Shocked he looked at his youngest. “Where did you get this book, Sam?”
“Dean gave it to me.” Sam replied innocently.
Anger welled up in John. “DEAN!”
He lifted Sam up and put him on the floor; with a few wide strides he had reached his sons’ bedroom. Angrily he pushed the door open, once more calling for his son, ready to burst into the room.
He came to a sudden stop, when he saw Dean lying on the bed. In this moment, the bottom of his world dropped and his heart shattered into a million pieces. A small gasp escaped his mouth.
Dean’s throat was slit and he was lying in a pool of blood – his blood. Lifeless eyes stared back at John. Even from this far, John knew that there was nothing he could do anymore. His son was dead.
Murdered.
Fear and desperation gripped his heart and he whirled around, ready to take his youngest and get him to safety, away from whatever had invaded their home and killed Dean. He had to save at least one son.
He froze when his eyes fell on Sam.
Instead of his son’s warm hazel eyes he loved so much, he stared into black dots.
“No.” He gasped.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Sam asked with an innocent smile. “Are you gonna read to me now?” He held the book up expectantly; it was then that John noticed Sam was holding something in his other hand – a bloodied knife.
“NO!” John’s eyes flew open as he woke with a start, his own scream ringing in his ears. Breathing heavily, he raked his hands through his hair as he tried to shake off the nightmare. He told himself that’s all it was – just a nightmare. A trick his subconscious was playing on him, nothing more.
Just a nightmare…
Sam’s visions had unsettled him more than he’d expected. He had known for some time now that his youngest son was one of the so-called special children, that something had been done to him that night, but to have his fears now confirmed, to witness…
He startled when he suddenly noticed something wet on his forehead. Wiping his hand over the spot, he saw it was blood.
“Crap.” He muttered. His wound from earlier must have opened again. He should have asked Dean to stitch it up.
It was then he realized he wasn’t lying on a bed as he had first assumed. As he thought about it, he couldn’t remember going to bed anyway. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the table and reading one of the books Bobby had lent him; it held immense information about demons, but nothing had really proved to be helpful to him. He couldn’t see anything in the utter darkness which had fallen over the room (odd in itself - shouldn’t there at least be streetlights lighting the room?); he started feeling around until he realized he was sitting on the ground. He got on his knees and searched the floor for his bag which held a flashlight – among other things. It took him a while to get his bag; what he did find though was toppled over furniture and broken glass.
“What the …”
Finally, he found his bag and quickly got out his flashlight. Passing the beam across the room, he saw chairs, table and dresser lying toppled over, most of it destroyed. Part of the ceiling had given in; the whole room looked as if a bomb had gone off.
The biggest shock though was the windows; the glass was shattered and what John saw through it wasn’t the night sky, but a wall of dirt. Not believing his eyes, he stumbled up to one of the windows; when he held his hand against the wall, his fear was confirmed – earth.
He was underground.
His thoughts immediately went to Sam and Dean; where they alright? Alive? Buried?
He had to find his sons!
Groaning, Sam pushed against the debris pushing against him. He’d woken up to this huge piece of rock pinning him down, pressing on his legs and part of his chest. It made breathing difficult and pushing with all his might had left him breathless several times, close enough to passing out and he was afraid to try again.
To make a bad situation worse, he lay in a puddle of water. It wasn’t rising, fortunately, but it was cold – ice cold. In the beginning, it had felt like a thousand needles stick him; now he only felt numb where the water touched him.
He didn’t bother calling for help anymore. He had done so right after waking up to this nightmare, but had received no answer. He was on his own.
He had no idea what had happened. All of the sudden, the hotel had started shaking; at first he had been afraid the whole building would come down on him. He had tried running out of the room, but then had literally lost the ground under his feet when the hotel collapsed. The sudden stop had pressed nearly all air out of his lungs and the falling debris from above had done the rest.
Sam wasn’t sure for how long he’d been unconscious, but when he woke he’d found himself in complete darkness.
He usually wasn’t afraid of the dark, but right now he struggled hard to not give in to the panic building inside him. He felt as if he had been buried alive and that definitely was something he was afraid of.
Doing his best to stay calm despite the circumstances, Sam tried to push the debris off of him again. He pushed as hard as he could, his muscles straining – but the debris wouldn’t budge. His chest constricted and the more he pushed, the harder it became to breathe. Gasping for air, he gave up.
He was trapped and there was no way he was getting out of here alone.
After searching the room for his phone and finding it smashed into pieces on the ground (the hotel’s phone not fairing any better), John grabbed his bag and made his way out of the room. He needed to find his sons and get the hell out of this building before it completely collapsed on them.
Sam and Dean’s room had been on the second floor, his own on the third; John hoped deeply they hadn’t been in it. Dean was a restless soul; staying put inside the hotel for so long wouldn’t have been like him. John prayed wherever he might have gone, he had dragged Sam with him. Judging by the amount of damage in his room, he didn’t want to think how destroyed the floors below were.
When he stepped out of the room, the corridor looked as bad as his room which confirmed his fears on how bad it must be on the lower floors. A part of the floor had caved in, leaving a dark hole in the ground, all pictures had fallen down and cables hung freely from the ceiling. A single lamp, flickering erratically, was the only light source.
“Hello?” He called, hoping for someone to reply.
“Help … help me!” A woman screamed from down the corridor.
John didn’t waste any time and quickly rushed to the room the screams had been coming from. With one swift kick, the door crashed open, revealing a room which looked as bad as his had.
“Help me, over here!” The woman called again.
John reached her with two fast strides. He found her trapped under a fallen cabinet. It took him only a minute to get her free. Supporting the middle-aged woman, he helped her to a standing position.
“Can you walk?” He asked.
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. It was evident she was in pain. “Thank you so much. I thought I’d die in here. What happened? Why is it so dark?”
John cleared his throat. “We’re underground.”
“That’s not possible.” She puffed, clearly not believing him.
John pointed the flashlight to one of the windows, proving his point.
“Oh my god.” Horrified, the woman stared at the window. A moment later her expression changed to one of anger. “This is all Harold’s fault!” She called out.
“Who’s Harold?” John asked confused.
“The idiot had to come to Nebraska! I wanted to go to Hawaii, but no, he insisted on coming here – to Nebraska! You want to know why? Because of all his dear memories from his childhood. He was three – THREE! – when his family moved away. He doesn’t remember anything about his time here. But since his mother died last year, he’s gone all nostalgic. The fool! See what it brought us! We’re trapped! Or I am! The imbecile is having his fun looking at the various bars in town. Ohh, when I get my hands on that dunderhead! I’m going to …”
“Ma’am, before you do anything to him, we need to get out of here. I’d say we get moving.” John interrupted her tirade; he pointed the flashlight toward the door and started moving.
“Don’t you think we should introduce ourselves first?”
John stopped and slowly turned around. He stared at her incredulously.
"It is the proper thing to do, don’t you think?" She smiled sweetly.
Glaring at her, he took a deep breath. “John.”
A raised brow was all the answer he received.
“Winchester.” He growled after a moment of silence.
A satisfied smile spread over her face. “Roberta Theresa Bukater. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester.” She held out her hand.
John stared at it for a moment, then turned around and walked away.
Roberta answered with an indignant puff before she quickly followed him outside.
By the time they had reached the stairway, John knew all about Harold Bukater’s newfound obsession with his former childhood homes - which apparently had been many, due to his father’s military job. Roberta herself had lived all her life in a small town in Texas. Her father had owned a grocery store.
John wished deeply she had never left her home town.
The stairs were still standing and looked safe enough to dare the trip upstairs.
"Go up as far as possible; if you can’t get out yourself, call for help until someone hears you." John said, interrupting Roberta’s tale of her neighbor’s ex-husband who apparently was a psychotic serial killer - or an accountant. John had only half listened.
“What about you?” Roberta asked surprised.
“I’m going downstairs.” At her terrified stare, he added, “I have to find my sons. Their room was on the second floor.”
“Maybe they weren’t in it.”
“Maybe.” John said doubtfully. He wasn’t sure about Dean, but he knew that Sam had been hell bent on finding out more about what might be behind his visions. He’d probably been in his room the last few hours, hooked up to his laptop just like John had been buried in his books. With a sigh, John thought that his youngest was becoming more like him than he liked.
Which meant that Sam had been in his room most likely and Dean might have been too.
He couldn’t just leave now. Not if they might still be down there. He had to make sure.
"You can’t just leave me alone. What if something happens?" Roberta asked horrified.
"It can’t really get much worse than this." John said dryly. With a sigh, he added, "You can come with me, of course." He hoped dearly she wouldn’t.
"Down there? I’m not that crazy!"
“Suit yourself. Good luck.” With that, John carefully started his way downstairs.
Roberta stared after him, her eyes going from him to the stairs back and forth. “If I die, it will be your fault. I hope you know that!” She called after him.
She didn’t get a response.
For a short moment, Roberta considered going after him. She didn’t want to die alone, but she hung on to life too much to follow this stranger into the darkness that was awaiting him downstairs. With a deep breath, she carefully began climbing up the stairs.
“Sam? Dean?" John called in the darkness. As he let the cone of his flashlight shine through the corridor, the amount of damage caused his breath to stick in his throat.
It was worse than expected. The ceiling on one half of the corridor had come down; it didn’t come as a surprise as he had seen it already from above. Until now though he had still hoped that his sons’ room had been on the other side.
As he stood there now, these hopes were crushed.
"Sam? Dean?"
Carefully he made his way over the fallen debris; the floor creaked with every step he took - it was sheer luck that it hadn’t caved in yet as well.
"SAM? DEAN?"
“Dad?”
The cracked voice was like a gift from the gods for John.
"Sammy! Where are you?"
"Just look under the ... b-biggest rock you can f-find." Sam’s voice sounded pain-filled, which spiked John’s worry.
Following his son’s voice, John finally found him, half buried under the fallen debris. His chest tightened when the cone of his flashlight wandered over the area. It might not be the biggest rock Sam was trapped under, but it was big enough. He also noticed the water that had gathered in this area.
“You okay?” John asked, kneeling beside Sam. He placed the flashlight on the ground next to them, lighting the surroundings. His hands immediately did a quick scan of his son’s upper body, looking for any injuries.
“I’ll be o-okay if you get this s-stuff off of me.” Sam replied, his teeth chattering as he spoke.
"Just give me a second." John said as he stood up again. He grabbed the flashlight and started inspecting the rock, making sure it hadn’t pierced Sam somewhere before he’d start to lift it off. "How fast is the water rising?"
"Not at all, it’s been the…the same since I woke up." Sam replied.
"That’s good news at least." John mumbled, then asked the dreaded question. “Where’s Dean?”
“He wasn’t here. I … I was going to meet him outside just before … this happened.”
John breathed out relieved. At least one son was safe.
"You gonna k-kick his ass for disobeying your orders?" Sam tried for a grin, but failed miserably.
"Absolutely." John smiled. He bent down to Sam and gave him a short pat on the shoulder. "But first I’ll get this off of you."
"Good. Cause this thing ..." He winced in pain. "It makes … breathing a bit difficult.”
“Not much longer.” John promised. He got up and put his hands under the debris. His face turned red as he slowly managed to lift it a few inches.
Just when Sam was starting to prepare to get out from under the rock, it slipped out of John’s hands and fell back on him, hitting him hard. Sam cried out in pain, biting his lips to stop any more screams from escaping his mouth. Tears were rolling down his face from the pain.
“Shit! Sammy, you okay?” John asked worried, kneeling beside Sam again. He cursed himself inwardly for having caused his son further pain.
“I’m good.” Sam pressed out, his breath hitching. “Just get it off.” He pushed against the debris, desperate to get rid of it.
John nodded determinedly and once more started to lift the piece of ceiling off of his son. He tried to block out Sam’s quiet groans of pain, the fear in his eyes, his hands that were closed into tight fists and the shivering of his body. It would just distract him from the task at hand.
The stone cut into his hands, but John didn’t feel the pain. He held the rock up, lifting it higher until he heard Sam crawling from under it.
"I’m out." Sam said.
Not a moment too soon as the rock slipped from John’s hands and crashed back on the ground.
John sank down, ignoring the cold of the water, and leaned his back against the rock, trying to catch his breath. It was on days like this that he felt his advancing age the most.
"Thanks." Sam’s quiet voice reached him.
"Anytime." John replied.
He was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for having his son back in his life. He had never allowed himself to admit how much he had truly missed Sam, how much he hated himself for forcing Sam away and how badly he wanted to take back every word of his that had enlarged the rift between him and his youngest. He never wanted his child to be apart from him for so long and in such a way.
The need to be close to Sam, to just go to him and hold him was near overwhelming, a feeling John had thought to be lost years ago. The complicated relationship with Sam held him back, but he hoped that one day, maybe, he’d be able to show both his sons how much they meant to him. They were everything to him. Suddenly, the fact that Sam was having visions didn’t seem so important anymore.
The cold of the water soaking through his clothes brought him back to the present.
"Let me check you out and then let’s get out of here." He said, making his way to his son.
Sam was still lying on the ground, surrounded by water. He groaned as he attempted to get up. "Damn." He cursed silently.
"Come on." John helped him up and sat him on the rock that had just moments ago trapped him. "Let me check your ribs."
"I don’t think they’re b-broken, just brui... Ou!" He winced in pain when John put pressure on his ribs.
"Definitely broken." John sighed. "You have any pain when breathing?" He was worried one of the fractured ribs might pierce the lung.
"Not since I’m out from un-under that thing." Sam replied. He knew the dangers as much as his father. "As long as I don’t t-take any deep breaths I sh-should be fine."
"I’d still rather see you in a hospital right now." John sighed.
"I never thought I’d s-say this, but so do I." Sam said ruefully.
"How are your legs? Can you walk?" As he asked, John took off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and handed it to his son.
Sam gratefully accepted it. "Yeah, I’m good." Suppressing another groan, he put on the shirt and stood up. “Thanks.”
"Here." John also handed him a second flashlight he had taken out of his bag.
Sam laughed quietly. "That’s what I l-love about you, Dad. You’re nothing if not prepared." He reached for the light, but froze in his motion before he took it. His eyes widened and he took a step back.
"Sam?" John looked at his youngest alarmed.
"It’s happening again." Sam whispered. A moment later he cried out in pain. Holding his head with both hands, he sank down on his knees.
John was at his side in seconds, putting his arms around his son and supporting him.
This was not what he had in mind when wishing to embrace his son.
TBC
Chapter 5
“Read me a book, Daddy.”
With a sigh, John looked up from his journal to his six year old son standing before him. “Why don’t you ask Dean, Sammy?”
“Dean’s asleep, Dad. Pleeeeaaase.”
Sam looked at him with his puppy dog eyes and John knew he couldn’t deny him. Research would have to wait another minute or two. “Just one chapter.”
“Thanks, Daddy!” Sam rejoiced and climbed up on this father’s lap. With a smile, he handed his book to his father.
John didn’t look at the title; Sam only owned three different books and by now John knew all of them word for word. Suppressing another sigh, he opened the book. As soon as he read the first page, saw the pictures on it, his blood froze. Instead of the familiar pictures and text he knew so well, he saw illustrations of men being slaughtered in the most brutal way. The text was in a foreign language John had never seen before. Dried blood was smeared on the pages. Shocked he looked at his youngest. “Where did you get this book, Sam?”
“Dean gave it to me.” Sam replied innocently.
Anger welled up in John. “DEAN!”
He lifted Sam up and put him on the floor; with a few wide strides he had reached his sons’ bedroom. Angrily he pushed the door open, once more calling for his son, ready to burst into the room.
He came to a sudden stop, when he saw Dean lying on the bed. In this moment, the bottom of his world dropped and his heart shattered into a million pieces. A small gasp escaped his mouth.
Dean’s throat was slit and he was lying in a pool of blood – his blood. Lifeless eyes stared back at John. Even from this far, John knew that there was nothing he could do anymore. His son was dead.
Murdered.
Fear and desperation gripped his heart and he whirled around, ready to take his youngest and get him to safety, away from whatever had invaded their home and killed Dean. He had to save at least one son.
He froze when his eyes fell on Sam.
Instead of his son’s warm hazel eyes he loved so much, he stared into black dots.
“No.” He gasped.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Sam asked with an innocent smile. “Are you gonna read to me now?” He held the book up expectantly; it was then that John noticed Sam was holding something in his other hand – a bloodied knife.
“NO!” John’s eyes flew open as he woke with a start, his own scream ringing in his ears. Breathing heavily, he raked his hands through his hair as he tried to shake off the nightmare. He told himself that’s all it was – just a nightmare. A trick his subconscious was playing on him, nothing more.
Just a nightmare…
Sam’s visions had unsettled him more than he’d expected. He had known for some time now that his youngest son was one of the so-called special children, that something had been done to him that night, but to have his fears now confirmed, to witness…
He startled when he suddenly noticed something wet on his forehead. Wiping his hand over the spot, he saw it was blood.
“Crap.” He muttered. His wound from earlier must have opened again. He should have asked Dean to stitch it up.
It was then he realized he wasn’t lying on a bed as he had first assumed. As he thought about it, he couldn’t remember going to bed anyway. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the table and reading one of the books Bobby had lent him; it held immense information about demons, but nothing had really proved to be helpful to him. He couldn’t see anything in the utter darkness which had fallen over the room (odd in itself - shouldn’t there at least be streetlights lighting the room?); he started feeling around until he realized he was sitting on the ground. He got on his knees and searched the floor for his bag which held a flashlight – among other things. It took him a while to get his bag; what he did find though was toppled over furniture and broken glass.
“What the …”
Finally, he found his bag and quickly got out his flashlight. Passing the beam across the room, he saw chairs, table and dresser lying toppled over, most of it destroyed. Part of the ceiling had given in; the whole room looked as if a bomb had gone off.
The biggest shock though was the windows; the glass was shattered and what John saw through it wasn’t the night sky, but a wall of dirt. Not believing his eyes, he stumbled up to one of the windows; when he held his hand against the wall, his fear was confirmed – earth.
He was underground.
His thoughts immediately went to Sam and Dean; where they alright? Alive? Buried?
He had to find his sons!
---SPN---
Groaning, Sam pushed against the debris pushing against him. He’d woken up to this huge piece of rock pinning him down, pressing on his legs and part of his chest. It made breathing difficult and pushing with all his might had left him breathless several times, close enough to passing out and he was afraid to try again.
To make a bad situation worse, he lay in a puddle of water. It wasn’t rising, fortunately, but it was cold – ice cold. In the beginning, it had felt like a thousand needles stick him; now he only felt numb where the water touched him.
He didn’t bother calling for help anymore. He had done so right after waking up to this nightmare, but had received no answer. He was on his own.
He had no idea what had happened. All of the sudden, the hotel had started shaking; at first he had been afraid the whole building would come down on him. He had tried running out of the room, but then had literally lost the ground under his feet when the hotel collapsed. The sudden stop had pressed nearly all air out of his lungs and the falling debris from above had done the rest.
Sam wasn’t sure for how long he’d been unconscious, but when he woke he’d found himself in complete darkness.
He usually wasn’t afraid of the dark, but right now he struggled hard to not give in to the panic building inside him. He felt as if he had been buried alive and that definitely was something he was afraid of.
Doing his best to stay calm despite the circumstances, Sam tried to push the debris off of him again. He pushed as hard as he could, his muscles straining – but the debris wouldn’t budge. His chest constricted and the more he pushed, the harder it became to breathe. Gasping for air, he gave up.
He was trapped and there was no way he was getting out of here alone.
---SPN---
After searching the room for his phone and finding it smashed into pieces on the ground (the hotel’s phone not fairing any better), John grabbed his bag and made his way out of the room. He needed to find his sons and get the hell out of this building before it completely collapsed on them.
Sam and Dean’s room had been on the second floor, his own on the third; John hoped deeply they hadn’t been in it. Dean was a restless soul; staying put inside the hotel for so long wouldn’t have been like him. John prayed wherever he might have gone, he had dragged Sam with him. Judging by the amount of damage in his room, he didn’t want to think how destroyed the floors below were.
When he stepped out of the room, the corridor looked as bad as his room which confirmed his fears on how bad it must be on the lower floors. A part of the floor had caved in, leaving a dark hole in the ground, all pictures had fallen down and cables hung freely from the ceiling. A single lamp, flickering erratically, was the only light source.
“Hello?” He called, hoping for someone to reply.
“Help … help me!” A woman screamed from down the corridor.
John didn’t waste any time and quickly rushed to the room the screams had been coming from. With one swift kick, the door crashed open, revealing a room which looked as bad as his had.
“Help me, over here!” The woman called again.
John reached her with two fast strides. He found her trapped under a fallen cabinet. It took him only a minute to get her free. Supporting the middle-aged woman, he helped her to a standing position.
“Can you walk?” He asked.
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. It was evident she was in pain. “Thank you so much. I thought I’d die in here. What happened? Why is it so dark?”
John cleared his throat. “We’re underground.”
“That’s not possible.” She puffed, clearly not believing him.
John pointed the flashlight to one of the windows, proving his point.
“Oh my god.” Horrified, the woman stared at the window. A moment later her expression changed to one of anger. “This is all Harold’s fault!” She called out.
“Who’s Harold?” John asked confused.
“The idiot had to come to Nebraska! I wanted to go to Hawaii, but no, he insisted on coming here – to Nebraska! You want to know why? Because of all his dear memories from his childhood. He was three – THREE! – when his family moved away. He doesn’t remember anything about his time here. But since his mother died last year, he’s gone all nostalgic. The fool! See what it brought us! We’re trapped! Or I am! The imbecile is having his fun looking at the various bars in town. Ohh, when I get my hands on that dunderhead! I’m going to …”
“Ma’am, before you do anything to him, we need to get out of here. I’d say we get moving.” John interrupted her tirade; he pointed the flashlight toward the door and started moving.
“Don’t you think we should introduce ourselves first?”
John stopped and slowly turned around. He stared at her incredulously.
"It is the proper thing to do, don’t you think?" She smiled sweetly.
Glaring at her, he took a deep breath. “John.”
A raised brow was all the answer he received.
“Winchester.” He growled after a moment of silence.
A satisfied smile spread over her face. “Roberta Theresa Bukater. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester.” She held out her hand.
John stared at it for a moment, then turned around and walked away.
Roberta answered with an indignant puff before she quickly followed him outside.
---SPN---
By the time they had reached the stairway, John knew all about Harold Bukater’s newfound obsession with his former childhood homes - which apparently had been many, due to his father’s military job. Roberta herself had lived all her life in a small town in Texas. Her father had owned a grocery store.
John wished deeply she had never left her home town.
The stairs were still standing and looked safe enough to dare the trip upstairs.
"Go up as far as possible; if you can’t get out yourself, call for help until someone hears you." John said, interrupting Roberta’s tale of her neighbor’s ex-husband who apparently was a psychotic serial killer - or an accountant. John had only half listened.
“What about you?” Roberta asked surprised.
“I’m going downstairs.” At her terrified stare, he added, “I have to find my sons. Their room was on the second floor.”
“Maybe they weren’t in it.”
“Maybe.” John said doubtfully. He wasn’t sure about Dean, but he knew that Sam had been hell bent on finding out more about what might be behind his visions. He’d probably been in his room the last few hours, hooked up to his laptop just like John had been buried in his books. With a sigh, John thought that his youngest was becoming more like him than he liked.
Which meant that Sam had been in his room most likely and Dean might have been too.
He couldn’t just leave now. Not if they might still be down there. He had to make sure.
"You can’t just leave me alone. What if something happens?" Roberta asked horrified.
"It can’t really get much worse than this." John said dryly. With a sigh, he added, "You can come with me, of course." He hoped dearly she wouldn’t.
"Down there? I’m not that crazy!"
“Suit yourself. Good luck.” With that, John carefully started his way downstairs.
Roberta stared after him, her eyes going from him to the stairs back and forth. “If I die, it will be your fault. I hope you know that!” She called after him.
She didn’t get a response.
For a short moment, Roberta considered going after him. She didn’t want to die alone, but she hung on to life too much to follow this stranger into the darkness that was awaiting him downstairs. With a deep breath, she carefully began climbing up the stairs.
---SPN---
“Sam? Dean?" John called in the darkness. As he let the cone of his flashlight shine through the corridor, the amount of damage caused his breath to stick in his throat.
It was worse than expected. The ceiling on one half of the corridor had come down; it didn’t come as a surprise as he had seen it already from above. Until now though he had still hoped that his sons’ room had been on the other side.
As he stood there now, these hopes were crushed.
"Sam? Dean?"
Carefully he made his way over the fallen debris; the floor creaked with every step he took - it was sheer luck that it hadn’t caved in yet as well.
"SAM? DEAN?"
“Dad?”
The cracked voice was like a gift from the gods for John.
"Sammy! Where are you?"
"Just look under the ... b-biggest rock you can f-find." Sam’s voice sounded pain-filled, which spiked John’s worry.
Following his son’s voice, John finally found him, half buried under the fallen debris. His chest tightened when the cone of his flashlight wandered over the area. It might not be the biggest rock Sam was trapped under, but it was big enough. He also noticed the water that had gathered in this area.
“You okay?” John asked, kneeling beside Sam. He placed the flashlight on the ground next to them, lighting the surroundings. His hands immediately did a quick scan of his son’s upper body, looking for any injuries.
“I’ll be o-okay if you get this s-stuff off of me.” Sam replied, his teeth chattering as he spoke.
"Just give me a second." John said as he stood up again. He grabbed the flashlight and started inspecting the rock, making sure it hadn’t pierced Sam somewhere before he’d start to lift it off. "How fast is the water rising?"
"Not at all, it’s been the…the same since I woke up." Sam replied.
"That’s good news at least." John mumbled, then asked the dreaded question. “Where’s Dean?”
“He wasn’t here. I … I was going to meet him outside just before … this happened.”
John breathed out relieved. At least one son was safe.
"You gonna k-kick his ass for disobeying your orders?" Sam tried for a grin, but failed miserably.
"Absolutely." John smiled. He bent down to Sam and gave him a short pat on the shoulder. "But first I’ll get this off of you."
"Good. Cause this thing ..." He winced in pain. "It makes … breathing a bit difficult.”
“Not much longer.” John promised. He got up and put his hands under the debris. His face turned red as he slowly managed to lift it a few inches.
Just when Sam was starting to prepare to get out from under the rock, it slipped out of John’s hands and fell back on him, hitting him hard. Sam cried out in pain, biting his lips to stop any more screams from escaping his mouth. Tears were rolling down his face from the pain.
“Shit! Sammy, you okay?” John asked worried, kneeling beside Sam again. He cursed himself inwardly for having caused his son further pain.
“I’m good.” Sam pressed out, his breath hitching. “Just get it off.” He pushed against the debris, desperate to get rid of it.
John nodded determinedly and once more started to lift the piece of ceiling off of his son. He tried to block out Sam’s quiet groans of pain, the fear in his eyes, his hands that were closed into tight fists and the shivering of his body. It would just distract him from the task at hand.
The stone cut into his hands, but John didn’t feel the pain. He held the rock up, lifting it higher until he heard Sam crawling from under it.
"I’m out." Sam said.
Not a moment too soon as the rock slipped from John’s hands and crashed back on the ground.
John sank down, ignoring the cold of the water, and leaned his back against the rock, trying to catch his breath. It was on days like this that he felt his advancing age the most.
"Thanks." Sam’s quiet voice reached him.
"Anytime." John replied.
He was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for having his son back in his life. He had never allowed himself to admit how much he had truly missed Sam, how much he hated himself for forcing Sam away and how badly he wanted to take back every word of his that had enlarged the rift between him and his youngest. He never wanted his child to be apart from him for so long and in such a way.
The need to be close to Sam, to just go to him and hold him was near overwhelming, a feeling John had thought to be lost years ago. The complicated relationship with Sam held him back, but he hoped that one day, maybe, he’d be able to show both his sons how much they meant to him. They were everything to him. Suddenly, the fact that Sam was having visions didn’t seem so important anymore.
The cold of the water soaking through his clothes brought him back to the present.
"Let me check you out and then let’s get out of here." He said, making his way to his son.
Sam was still lying on the ground, surrounded by water. He groaned as he attempted to get up. "Damn." He cursed silently.
"Come on." John helped him up and sat him on the rock that had just moments ago trapped him. "Let me check your ribs."
"I don’t think they’re b-broken, just brui... Ou!" He winced in pain when John put pressure on his ribs.
"Definitely broken." John sighed. "You have any pain when breathing?" He was worried one of the fractured ribs might pierce the lung.
"Not since I’m out from un-under that thing." Sam replied. He knew the dangers as much as his father. "As long as I don’t t-take any deep breaths I sh-should be fine."
"I’d still rather see you in a hospital right now." John sighed.
"I never thought I’d s-say this, but so do I." Sam said ruefully.
"How are your legs? Can you walk?" As he asked, John took off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and handed it to his son.
Sam gratefully accepted it. "Yeah, I’m good." Suppressing another groan, he put on the shirt and stood up. “Thanks.”
"Here." John also handed him a second flashlight he had taken out of his bag.
Sam laughed quietly. "That’s what I l-love about you, Dad. You’re nothing if not prepared." He reached for the light, but froze in his motion before he took it. His eyes widened and he took a step back.
"Sam?" John looked at his youngest alarmed.
"It’s happening again." Sam whispered. A moment later he cried out in pain. Holding his head with both hands, he sank down on his knees.
John was at his side in seconds, putting his arms around his son and supporting him.
This was not what he had in mind when wishing to embrace his son.
TBC